


May The Wind Be At Your Back

by Eurydiceran



Series: The Stormsinger Series [1]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (that’ll make sense later trust me), (which kills me cuz i love them but for the sake of CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT), Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers Tower, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Chaotic dumbasses with too much power, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is Bad With Teenagers, Dead Parents, Deaf Clint Barton, Dumpster fire OC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fictional Languages, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt OC, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of sarcasm, Marvel Norse Lore, Multi, No editing we die without shame, Nobody knows how to accept genuine affection from another human being, Nobody knows how to process emotions healthfully, OC needs a hug, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Relentless hatred of potatoes, SHIELD, Somebody hire a therapist, Sorry again, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Teneo, The Author Regrets Nothing, Things are rough for most of the OC’s life, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, and talking about forces of nature like they’re people, bad in the start but i promise it gets better, denial time, emotionally and otherwise, enemies to teammates, except for the cliche plot in the beginning, gratuitous use of flashbacks, gratuitous use of foreshadowing dreams/nightmares, gratuitous use of tropes, holy crap that’s a tag i love our fandom, how is that not a tag already?, know your myths y’all, legacy/super powers, lots of exposition, no beta we die like peter Parker’s father figures, repressing emotions for years always helps, sudden gratuitous sarcasm/violence, the avengers are Bad With Teenagers, the wind has feelings, the wind has feelings and you hurt them, they’re all disasters, villain with a three-piece suit and encyclopedic knowledge of Shakespeare, we stan feral OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 49
Words: 284,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurydiceran/pseuds/Eurydiceran
Summary: Quick Heads-up: this was originally posted on Quotev, I’m moving over here after literally four or so years of working on it. I’m copying it verbatim, so some stuff will be outdated. Not gonna lie, it’s not exactly quality content in the beginning but my writing gets better as the story moves on. I hope you stick around, but if you don’t, hey, I hope you find another story to capture your imagination :)—Gale is a street musician. In the shadow of Avengers Tower, she earns her keep playing for the masses of New York. But Gale’s got a gift, one that’s more likely to drive her into a jail cell (or a padded cell, at the rate she’s going). With the unexpected— and unwanted— appearance of some new “friends”, her options are rapidly dwindling, quicker than the winds she’s a little too good at working...
Series: The Stormsinger Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103567
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	1. Give the people what they want, even if they’re total jerks about it

I don't really get people. Sure, some of them are nice, but others just can't be polite to save their lives. For example, I play a song for a business man, one that he obviously enjoyed, and then he criticized me on it. He said I was too pitchy, that my guitar was off tune, and that I just ruined his favorite song for him. But then again, I was in New York.  
  
Let me back track a little. I'm Gale, a fifteen year old girl who is currently trying to make a living off of New York citizens. Yeah, I should probably rethink my life choices, but who can blame me? Until I can get a plane ticket or a scholarship, I'm stuck here. Might as well enjoy the ride while I'm at it. I was currently standing in the shadow of the one and only Avengers Tower, playing music at the lunch rush hour. I didn't have much money, and this was the only way I could get some.   
  
I'm a street musician. I've got my guitar and my voice, and somehow I manage to live off of it. I'm pretty good, if I say so myself, but there are a lot of people who are better. So here I am, starting up Sweet Caroline as a procession of elderly people sit on the benches nearby.  
  
 _Where it began, I can't begin to knowing  
But then I know it's growing strong  
Was in the spring  
And spring became the summer  
Who'd have believed you'd come along  
  
_I started with a simple pattern, just plucking the strings so I could pack a bigger punch when I reached the chorus.  
  
 _Hands, touching hands  
Reaching out, touching me, touching you  
  
_I was strumming softly now, smiling as a couple of the old folks wandered over to listen better.  
  
 _Sweet Caroline  
Good times never seemed so good  
I'd be inclined  
To believe they never would  
But now I  
  
_A couple of bills fluttered into my guitar case as I got into the groove. For those who've never played an instrument and/or sung, the groove is when you lose yourself in the music. You just keep playing and singing and everything is in harmony, and nothing else really matters. It's one of the most incredible feelings in the world.  
  
I wrapped up the song in no time, it seemed. A loud round of applause issued from the small crowd that had gathered around me as I performed.  
  
"Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all week, same place, same time! Have a good one, folks, and goodnight!" I shouted above the noise. A couple of bills fluttered their way into my case as I swung the guitar strap over my shoulder and went to pack it away. Hmm, not bad. I got $50 out of today. That's good for...three days of meals, if I'm generous to myself.  
  
I packed away my instrument, accepted a few compliments from passersby, and smoothed down my brown hair and straightened out my clothes. It was just after the lunch rush, so there were a couple cars speeding to their workplaces, but not too much to be a hassle. I walked a couple of blocks north, where the In 'n' Out drive through was located. For a girl without any adults nearby carrying a large case, I got surprisingly few odd looks. Well, I was a regular here after all. Strolling up to Ben, who worked the after lunch shift, I slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter.  
  
"The usual?" the tall man asked with a grin.  
  
"You betcha," I shot right back at him, returning the smile. A minute later, he came back with a burger and fries, and handed me my change.  
  
"I made it a double burger too. On the house for my favorite customer," Ben winked.   
  
Ben was a flirt. A big one, too. He had the looks and the attitude to do it, and nothing stopped him. But he and I knew each other, and the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing? It had a snowball's chance.  
  
"Hey, Gale, could ya play us a song to pass the time?" Ben begged me, green eyes wide. I sighed and pulled out my guitar. Ben clapped his hands enthusiastically and leaned out of the little window.  
  
 _On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair  
Warm smell of colitas rising up through the air  
Up ahead in the distance I saw a shimmering light  
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night_  
  
I began the intro the Hotel California. It was just Ben and me, and no one else could hear. At the end of the first chorus, I stopped. Ben started booing, and I gave him a light smack upside the head.  
  
"I gotta eat. Besides, I just finished up my routine in front of the Avengers Tower. My fingers are killing me," I said apologetically as I picked up my food. And this burger was delicious. A quick moment later, the food was gone and I was licking the grease from my fingers.  
  
"Gale, my shift is over in ten minutes. If you hang around-" Ben called out.  
  
I waved him off. "Yeah, they'll chase me off for loitering again." I packed up and swung the guitar case over my shoulder as I stood up from the bench. I gave Ben a quick goodbye and then scampered back towards the nearest park. Right after lunch, and this was when the moms and their kids would come around to play on the monkey bars or the slides.  
  
I walked under a tree, a big one, and I hoisted myself up into the maze of branches. Climbing up rapidly while keeping a hand on my instrument, I reached a little dip in the trunk and sat there. This was nice, just relaxing for once. I started to close my eyes, not worried about the ten to fifteen foot drop below me.   
  
A piercing scream cut me off from my pleasant thoughts. Peering through the branches, I saw a small boy dangling from a branch in a tree on the opposite side of the small park. He had one hand around the flimsy limb, and was hanging far enough up off of the ground that he would certainly break something if he fell. If he was lucky, that is.  
  
"Mommy!" he shrieked. The cluster of mothers ran over to the helpless child, but none of them could do anything about it. I saw one of them call 911, but that would take too long. I was too far away to do anything, anything short of using my... gift, and I didn't want to do that. Not in public.  
  
And then the boy fell. Acting purely on instinct, I cast out one hand as I stood on the branch I was sitting on, keeping one arm behind me to steady myself. I felt the smallest of breezes tickle my arm, winding around it like a snake. Although I couldn't see it, I could feel it, and I felt it shoot out across the grass like an arrow. A second before the boys hit the ground, he stopped in midair. He was hovering, suspended like a marionette. He slowly drifted downwards, and touched the ground softly.  
  
Everyone was silent. After all, nature had just bent its rules to save a child.  
  
"You're welcome," I said softly to myself.  
  
The ambulance pulled up to the curb just then, a minute too late. The paramedics rushed out, grabbing the little boy and checking him over. He kept babbling about the wind and him probably having superpowers and being famous like Iron Man. Little kids are cute like that.  
  
I chuckled as I swung myself down from the tree. If I stayed around, I'd have to answer questions. And I did not want to have to go through that stuff. Besides, with the Battle of New York being just a month old, powered people weren't exactly greeted with open arms. And if there was an underage girl with powers and no people to back her up, well, let's just say it wouldn't end well for either parties.  
  
I walked downtown, passing all of the trinket shops and the bookstores and all of that jazz. You could practically smell the culture here, and for someone like me, I actually could. Turning a sharp corner after passing an ice cream shop, I made my way through a dark alley. Yeah, I know what you're saying. Why is a girl walking by herself down an alley when there's less than an hour's worth of daylight? I'm not stupid, for one. I wouldn't walk through any other alley in this circumstance. But this was _my_ alley.  
  
I had made my home in the backstreet right here. Two empty dumpsters had been left here, each one turned on its side. They had never been used, ever. I think the city was going to more like these two, but the cost was too high. So I pushed the bins together, and presto. A reasonably sized metal room with a tarp covering the entrance. Worming my way through the hole I had cut in the plastic lid, I entered mi casa. There was a pile of old blankets in one corner, with a camping bedroll next to it. I had an assortment of items in the opposite corner, like books that were left out for donation, and trinkets I found on the ground. I kept my guitar in a little hidden place in the ground, under what looked like a sewer plate. It was really just an old pothole that nobody bothered to refill, and it served my purposes perfectly.  
  
Yeah, I didn't have a house. That much is obvious by now. I didn't have parents, either. I didn't want any. I was an eleutheromaniac, and for those of you who don't want to go find a dictionary, it means that I had an intense and unignorable desire for freedom. It was kinda like claustrophobia, but a slightly different concept. Therefore, I didn't want any people in my life that would limit my actions, keep me chained to one place, or tell me what I can and can't do. And in this life, with no house and no parents, I could do what I want when I want. I accepted every consequence of my actions, because if I couldn't, then what was the point of flying solo?  
  
Peeking my head outside, I noticed that the sky was already dark. The lights of the city were flaring up in the distance, and the air grew colder and colder. Smiling, I changed into my night outfit and locked the dumpster home up with a bike chain I had stolen. (But not the bike. I'm not that cruel). I silently crawled up the fire escape that was bolted to the ice cream shop, sneaking up towards the roof. Hauling myself over the edge, I kicked my legs to give me a boost, and viola. I was standing on a concrete roof, high above the streets of New York. There weren't any cameras up here, so I was safe to use my gift. Sitting down with my legs dangling over the edge, I quietly laughed at all of the people walking below me. If one of them looked up, they'd see me- a girl in all black on a roof, giggling. But most people are stupid. They look at their phones instead of at the real world. Typical humans.  
  
And, I guess I should probably explain the whole deal with my gift. I'll give you a hint: my name. It's Gale, right? And what is a gale? A very strong wind. That was my gift; I could harness the wind. But it wasn't quite that simple, no, why would it be? Think about the wind for a second, think about where you can find it, think about what it can do. It can ruffle a poppy field, making the flowers dance gracefully. It can whip at your hair, flinging it everywhere, and bring an odd sense of delight. It can also knock down a tree. It can obliterate a town, like how tornadoes do. It can, with help from the moon, make waves that can crash down on land and change it forever. And it's everywhere; it literally can be found anywhere. On the mountains, on the roads, in your homes. Each time I used my gift, I connected to every scrap of wind on this planet. I could hear it, see it, smell it, from miles away. The wind carries memories, and sometimes on a rare occasion, I would feel like I was living those memories. One time I was at the Santa Anita Racetrack, where a Japanese internment camp was made in WW2. I had a panic attack from everything I was sensing, and took a week to recover. Do you still think that it's nice, doing what I can do? Do you think it's easy?  
  
Go outside and try to drink from a tsunami. Then we can talk.  
  
But back to the matter at hand, I enjoyed one thing that I could do with my gift. Standing up and brushing off the dust from my pants, I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind. Almost instantly, I felt whispers, right up against my skin, trying to pull me in all different directions. _Come with me_ , one said. _Be free with us_ , another persuaded. I mentally pushed down on all of these voices, and they faded into the background. If I did what they asked... I would dissolve, I would become a wind. Probably a north wind, the kind that brought the late summer storms and the change in the season. I liked the north winds. The others were too placid for my taste.  
  
Anyway, I reached out and pulled a east wind close, enveloping myself in it. I slowly lifted off of the ground, and then put on a burst of speed that launched me into the sky, spinning like a top. I soared up into the clouds, above the tallest skyscraper, shooting through the air like an arrow. Giggling, I traced my fingers through a cloud, sending up little trails behind me.   
  
I flew in that pattern for while, just casually soaring in circles and loops, just enjoying the night. After at least half an hour, I hovered above Central Park, suspended in air as if I was in water. Flipping around so that I was lying (I don't know if you can call it that, I was flying, so is it hovering?) on my stomach, I let out a deep sigh of happiness. This was the life, and if you don't agree with me, then the door is to your left. Have a nice day.  
  
I didn't really want anything else than this. I was content with my life, and I was happier than I think I'll ever be. I didn't exactly go hungry every night (although there were some difficult times), and I had a warm place to sleep, and I could _fly_ for heaven's sake. Sure, a part of me wanted people to talk to, to be close with, but I never pursued that. If people got close to me, well...I was volatile. One wrong step and I could destroy a house in minutes, if I had enough juice in me. But why was I thinking about that right now? I shook my to clear my thoughts. I've only got about an hour before some person's drone or security camera found a girl enjoying New York. Several hundred feet in the air.  
  
So here's to me, Gale, the freedom seeker who never wanted to change.

Author's Note (from October 2019): Wow, sheesh, this is certainly... not what I wanted from my earlier work. Okay, my lovely readers, here's the dealio-- I started this when I was in, like, seventh or eighth grade. I didn't know _how_ to write, I just knew that I wanted to do it. So I started writing this story. And what's the point to this senseless rambling, you might ask?

It's simple. Please have patience. I promise my writing gets better the further along it gets. Believe me when I say that I cringe every time I reread any of the first, like, fourteen chapters. I use so many stereotypes and tropes, ohmigod it's awful. But yeah. Just letting y'all know that it's not all like this chapter, and I hope you read on to the better parts :)


	2. Great, now I’m on bad luck’s hit list

Author's Note: So, I couldn't help but notice that a lot of people noticed my story in the first 17 hours. And that brings great joy to my heart. Seriously, guys. Go out and buy yourself a kitten.  
  
A couple days after my latest night flight, I was at a precarious tipping point in my life. Should I play in Central Park or should I go to Avengers Tower again? Over dramatic, I know. But if I chose the wrong location, I wouldn't earn as much money, meaning I would have to ration out my supplies again. And believe me, that was _not_ funny. After a long and arduous thinking process, I decided to go to Avengers Tower. That place always had people nearby, rain or shine. And besides, Central Park was farther away.  
  
So without further ado, I grabbed my guitar and I hustled down the busy streets towards Avengers Towers. There was a crowd of girls right in front of the doors, all holding signs that said various things from 'Marry me Tony!' to 'I'm your biggest fan!'. Honestly, it was quite disturbing to say the least.  
  
I popped open my case and set it in front of me, and started to warm up my fingers on my guitar. As soon as I deemed myself socially acceptable to play, I launched into A Thousand Years. Yes, the one from the Twilight movie. I didn't think that oldie goodies would get the attention of those cosplay girls, so that left me with sparkly vampires.  
  
  
I noticed the crowd of girls slowly move over to where I was parked. Nodding my head when some of them tossed a bill or some coins in, I wrapped up the song slowly, as to draw it out so they'd stay around.  
  
"OMG, she is soooo cute!" a Barbie doll of a teenager squealed once I had finished. I smiled tightly at them. _Oh you think I'm cute, huh? I'll have you know I am 15 years of concentrated sarcasm and power. Why don't you go find a Starbucks so you can Snap-chat your misspelled name on your coffee cup?_ My inner voice was in a very bad mood today.  
  
"Did you hear about that thing on the news?" one girl asked me, the entire gaggle of 20 or so all listening in.  
  
"Uh, no. I don't have cable," I replied. Oh, if only they knew that I didn't even have a phone. They'd die on the spot, and then come back from the grave to spread it on social media.  
  
"Mkay, so," the girl put a hand on her hip, drinking in the attention. _Get on with it. I have a show to run._  
  
"My daddy has a friend who works in the Air Force, right? So, apparently, they picked up this... thing, hovering over New York a couple of nights ago." The girls all gasped dramatically.  
  
I, however, froze. I didn't think that they notice me...if it was me they saw. No, I knew that they did a routine scan every Thursday night, not on Friday. It couldn't have been me.  
  
"They got an upgrade in the system a week ago. It scans the city every night now. What if they got an alien? What if there's going to be another battle?" The girl continued her dramatic speech, making all of the others go into a frenzy.  
  
"Excuse me, I have to go," I said coldly, packing up. In ten seconds I was out of the area, and in the same park that I saved the little boy.  
  
I climbed up the same tree, and just sat there for an hour. I went over what just happened in my head. One part of me kept saying that it was just someone's drone that they bought from the hobby store, that it was nothing and that I was safe. But the rational side of me said otherwise, and unfortunately, it was right most of the time. _You need to get out of the city_ , it urged. _Even if it is nothing, better safe than sorry, right? It's not like anyone's going to miss you._ That last bit hurt, but it was the truth, and the truth usually wasn't rainbows and puppies.  
  
I made up my mind. I would take everything I could carry from the dumpster shelter, and then I would high-tail it out of New York. This city had grown on me, but it was the only option I had. I heard that New Orleans was great this time of year... My feeble attempt at cheering myself up failed miserably. I really like this place, with the skyscrapers and the parks and the food stands that popped up out of nowhere. I sighed and grabbed my guitar. And then something caught my eye.  
  
That tree that the little boy had fallen from on Friday was swarming with people. Most of them were in black suits, putting paramedics and normal old folks out of the question. There were a couple of big people making up a border around the rest, making it quite obvious that whatever they were doing was important. Cameras were flashing as photographers took shots from every possible angle. I didn't think that it was too bad. I mean, this soon after an alien invasion, there are bound to be some people who are going to investigate the miraculous thing that saving a boy from falling. But just to be sure, I closed my eyes and grabbed a west wind (they were the mild ones that were good for carrying sounds and messages) and pushed it in the direction of the commotion.  
  
_"We can't find any trace of foreign technology, ma'am."_ Male, confident, probably the head of some minor group.  
  
_"Keep looking. Something stopped that boy, and we're going to find it. Back to work."_ Female, authoritative, the commanding officer of this operation. Peeking open my eyes, I saw the two who were speaking. A man with dark hair and a thick build, and a woman with brown hair twisted into a tight bun. I couldn't see anything more detailed than that, so listening it was.  
  
_"Diagnostics from the lab are back. Neither the boy or the mother have anything to do with it,"_ an underling spoke to the first man. How did I know he was an underling? Because his voice was quavering as he said it. Poor guy, probably was his first day on the job, by the sound of it.  
  
_"Ma'am! We found something!"  
  
"What is it?" _The woman was impatient.  
  
_"We've been looking for technology and more substantial causes, but we haven't looked at the less visible causes. Like the air or the wind, for example."_ Clever little suits. I must admit, I was impresses. Though worry was starting to take hold. I got ready to jump down from my perch if the moment came.  
  
_"So Hartfell and I looked at the security tapes of the parking lot next door. We can only see the tree from where the boy fell, but if we slow it down-"  
  
"What? I don't see anything." _Oh, this woman was obviously not happy. Bad hair day maybe?  
  
_"That's the point. You can't see it because who can see the wind?"  
  
_Losers. I can.  
  
_"All of the leaves and the grass bend towards the boy from this angle. That means whatever stopped this boy came from that tree over there."_  
  
I open my eyes and jolted out of my trance. All of the people were staring at my tree.   
  
"Fudge fudgity fudger fudge," I muttered as I jumped down the back of the tree so that they couldn't see me. And don't judge. I use 'fudge' instead of cursing, and that is nothing to be ashamed of. Just as I straightened the case strap around my shoulder, someone grabbed my arm.  
  
I whirled around and came face to face with the woman that I eavesdropped on. How the heck did she get over here so fast?  
  
"Excuse me?" I asked her, my innocent face on.  
  
"I'm Agent Hill, with SHIELD." She flashed a badge in my face that meant absolutely nothing to me. Government agencies, they're all the same. Sticking their noses where they don't belong.  
  
"Never heard of it," I said promptly and tried to walk away. I was stopped by two suits that looked more like living walls of muscle.  
  
"I'd like to ask you a few questions, that's all," Agent Hill said politely. Sure, be all nice because I can't go anywhere without blowing my cover. Thank you, karma.  
  
So I purposely relaxed, deciding to play the innocent little girl bystander game.  
  
"Sure, what can I do for you?" I hated playing the innocent little girl bystander game.  
  
"Were you here when the boy fell from that tree on Friday? When he was miraculously saved by something?" Agent Hill certainly didn't spend time of formalities, that was for certain.  
  
"Well, yeah," I said like it was obvious. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm a street musician. This was a new place I was trying out, ya know. The park is a nice change of scenery from streets and sidewalk festivals."  
  
"Is that so?" She motioned to an underling, most likely telling him to see if my story checked out. Technically, I wasn't lying.  
  
"Did you see it happen?" Whoa, tone down the interrogation mode, Agent.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, I didn't see him actually fall but them he screamed and I stopped playing and he was just hovering in midair and omigosh is it aliens again?" I said in one big breath, acting like a clueless little girl. It seemed to work. The suits behind me stepped to side a little bit, and Agent Hill looked convinced.  
  
"Alright. Thank you for your cooperation." She dismissed me and turned back to her group of officers.  
  
I grinned as I bounced away, a spring in my step. I had just straight out lied to a government officer and got away with it. Mentally doing a victory dance, I raced to my dumpster and packed everything I owned into my backpack.  
  
"Goodbye, dumpster." I said under my breath as I walked out of my shelter for the last time. As I passed another homeless person, I stopped.  
  
"Hey buddy. There's a really great shelter down the alley after the ice cream shop. I'm skipping town, and you can use it." I said to the old man. He clasped my hand in thanks and shuffled off in the direction of the dumpster.  
  
I walked along the sidewalks towards the outskirts of New York. It would take a while, sure, but I could hitch hike at a gas station without drawing much attention to myself if I just waited. By tomorrow night, I could be in a new city, and no one would be the wiser.

  
(3rd person)  
  
Agent Hill was _very_ cross. Not only had there been absolutely no progress on the falling boy incident, she had a dozen other deadlines coming up and for the love of fudge she couldn't get those lab reports done soon enough. As she sat down on the park bench, she heard footsteps behind her.  
  
"Ma'am?" a terrified scientist came up to her, holding a tablet in his hand. "The team found an ATM camera from the park that show a different angle of what happened."  
  
"Give it to me," Hill snapped. The intern quickly loaded the video and played it. No audio, but visual was all they needed.  
  
The grainy image showed the boy falling, and then stopping suddenly in mid air. Nothing special. Except-  
  
"Go back, and play it slower," Hill commanded. The intern did so, and Hill stopped it at a seemingly random point.  
  
It was hard to see, but it was there. That girl that Hill had interviewed earlier was in that tree. She was mostly obscured by the branches, but her posture was clear enough. A second before the boy was saved, the girl held out her hand and closed her eyes, as if she was concentrating.  
  
"Hartfell, pull up that object we picked up in the sky on Friday night and run the program on these two. I want to know if there's anything similar between these." Hill ordered as a grin came over her face. She just might meet those deadlines after all.  
  


(back to Gale)

  
  
I wandered through the aisles of the gas station on the borders of the city. Although it looked like I was looking for something to buy, I really was listening to the conversation that the cashier was having with another customer. I had done this for a while now, and my cover was growing thin.  
  
"Hey girl! You gonna buy something or what?" The cashier called impatiently.   
  
Fine. I gave in to Plan B.   
  
"Sorry, are you by any chance heading out of the city?" I asked the other customer politely. He was a thin old man with a shirt that advertised some banjo player, and had round glasses that were perched on his balding head.  
  
"Yes, I am. Why do you ask?" He said in a fragile voice.  
  
"I need a ride out of here. Would you be so kind as to let me tag along for a while?" I asked with a hopeful smile, the one that most adults couldn't resist.  
  
And as luck would have it, ten minutes later I was getting into the passenger seat of an old RV trailer that smelled like spearmint. And as the absence of the aforementioned luck would have it, I never saw the old TV in the gas station flash an urgent warning.  
  
My face in a picture taken from a tourist's camera in a performance, along with the words 'Report Immediately if Seen', shone bright on the ancient monitor. The cashier saw it, and picked up the phone and rang the number that the screen showed. And a couple minutes later, a line of black SUV's with flashing lights barreled down the highway after me.  
  
Of course, I had no idea that this was happening. I was sitting in that passenger seat, staring out of the window at the sunset. It was a quiet night, I felt it. What I mean is that there weren't a lot of winds around, and that was uncommon. I could bend the winds with almost no trouble, when they were here, at least. Creating winds out of nothing, well, that was difficult. The last time I tried that, I got a piece of paper to move three inches and a 104 degree fever for the following week.  
  
I traced a pattern on the cold window, sitting peacefully in the silence.  
  
"I've got a granddaughter that looks like you," The man, whose name was Eric, spoke up out of the blue.  
  
I smiled at the thought. "Well, she has a amazing grandfather. Not every man would help out a girl like me," I chuckled.  
  
We shared a laugh, and silence fell for a second. "So why are you leaving town? You young folks are always in a rush to get from one place to another." Eric shook his head.  
  
"Not me. I'm content just watching this world turn for the time being. I don't want to run everywhere and not be able to notice the tiny things in life," I commented.  
  
"You know-" Eric was cut off suddenly by the sound of blaring sirens behind us. I tensed up in my my as I silently released my seat belt. Maybe we could get away. Maybe I could-  
  
Several black cars sped ahead of us and skidded around, forcing Eric to stop the car. We were boxed in. And I knew that the only reason why they would stop this car was because I was here.  
  
"Give this to your granddaughter. I hope she likes it. Thanks for everything, Eric." I pointed to my guitar. I really didn't want to leave it behind, but I would have to make a quick escape, and it would only slow me down.  
  
"Come out of the van with your hands up!" Someone shouted through a bullhorn. Eric and I both opened our doors and stepped out. My hair was loose, and I angled my head so that it hid my face. From what I could see, we were surrounded by agents, all with their guns pointed straight at me.  
  
"Girl! Get down on your knees with your hands above your head!" The person ordered. Hey, I recognized that voice. It was that Agent Hill.  
  
Fudge.  
  
"You're making a mistake," I said loudly, not moving.  
  
"Get down on the ground!" Hill shouted.  
  
"This could end up very bad for you and your men!" I shot back, refusing to follow their commands.  
  
"We will open fire! Last warning!"  
  
I slowly bent my knees, and I must have given them the impression that I was actually listening to them, which I of course was not. I jumped high into the air while grabbing every single scrap of wind I could find and wrapping it around myself. But like I said earlier, it was a quiet night.  
  
I shook in midair, losing my momentum as I struggled to lift myself up into the sky. If I could get high enough, I might find a strong wind that I could use. I heard several loud gunshots, and I spun wildly around, trying to dodge the bullets.  
  
"We need air support _NOW!_ " Agent Hill yelled.  
  
I found a pocket of wind and immediately used it to bounce myself upwards, straight towards the stars. I was going to make, I thought. I could get away and I could-  
  
Something very large shot inches from my face. Reacting on pure instinct, I careened the the left, no longer on my vertical trajectory. Darn it, if they kept on shooting it would just make this harder. Can't they just be nice and civil instead of trying to blast me out of the air? I veered right again, trying to now fly horizontal, and maybe I could outpace them. If I crossed over the rough lands away from the roads, I could easily get away.  
  
I was almost out of range. Just one more minute and I was gone for good. I pushed myself harder, feeling a headache burst open behind my eyes. And hallelujah, then I felt it. There was a strong north wind just fifty feet ahead of me. I pulled it towards me as I rocketed in its direction. 25 feet. 15. 10. 5. I was almost there, I could taste my freedom.  
  
WHAM!  
  
Something ran into me at full speed, hitting me right in the ribs. For a millisecond I was confused. It wasn't a bullet, it felt like something was sticking out of me, like a-  
  
Pure electricity shot through my body, racing through every inch of me. I completely lost control and spiraled downwards, limp as a rag doll. Through the haze of pain that was clouding my vision, I noticed that the ground was coming towards me at an alarming rate. But I couldn't do anything about it. I was convulsing as I fell, completely helpless. The electricity still immobilized me, but I think the basis of my unconscious, my pure survival instinct, warped that north wind and put up a feeble barrier to soften the blow, enough so that I wouldn't die.  
  
I blacked out right as I hit the ground, without so much as a thought to end my consciousness.


	3. Mental Note: Don’t get kidnapped again, kidnappers are shockingly boring

Let me just get this out of the way. I hate getting knocked out. It doesn't matter if I get hit the head, pass out from exhaustion, or get electrified (AHEM AHEM COUGH COUGH, you know who you are), if I don't go to sleep naturally, it's a pain in the butt to wake up. The process is slow, like baking chocolate chip cookies. It's never done soon enough.  
  
So when I came to, the first thing I noticed was that I was lying on something soft. Something nice and plush and nothing like what I'm used to. The next thing that came was the smell. Wherever I was, it smelled like freshly washed linen and slightly like disinfectant. Then I could hear voices, quiet at first, but gaining in volume as I came more into consciousness.   
  
_When do you think she'll wake up?  
  
I already told you, I don't know.  
  
It's been too long for someone of her age. What if she never will wake up?  
  
You saw her yourself. She's got powers. She could be older than you or me.  
  
Fair point. Well, I'll leave you to babysit the comatose vegetable over there. I've got some reports to fill out.  
  
Idiot.  
  
_I struggled to open my eyelids, deciding that it would be best to try to fully wake up now. Just how long had I been out? When I finally cracked them open, I immediately shut them again and let out a tiny groan, that for some reason hurt my ribs to get out.  
  
"Hey, it's alright, do you want to to turn down the lights?" A voice came from my right, sounded slightly feminine and vaguely concerned. I let out another whimper/groan as a response, and the lights dimmed drastically.  
  
"Take your time. Don't rush yourself getting up." Definitely a woman.  
  
Trying again to open my eyes, I forced myself to wake up. At first, all I saw was a blur of white. Then, as things got focused, I saw that I was looking at a light fixture, flush up against the white ceiling tiles. There was something next to me, something that was black with a splash of red.  
  
"You gonna throw up? Because I've got a baggie over here," the blur warned me. Everything clicked into place. Oh, my bad. The blur was in fact a woman.  
  
She had red hair that was cut short, like she didn't have time for long hair. The woman was sitting in a chair next to me, resting her forearms on her knees as if she couldn't care less.  
  
I tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it. A bolt of pain speared through my midsection and up towards my ribs, making me see black spots for a second.  
  
"I really wouldn't try to sit up by the way. You cracked three ribs, fractured your shin, and almost broke your back when you hit the ground. By all rights you should still be in a coma." The mystery woman leaned back in her chair.  
  
She was acting oddly relaxed around me. And from what I had heard earlier, she knew I had powers, so why...  
  
I tried to raise my arms, hoping that it wouldn't hurt, and although it was sore, I realized that I wasn't going anywhere. There were padded restraints around my wrists and my ankles, basically making it impossible to move, even if I could stand to walk around with my injuries.  
  
"Oh yeah, and you're not going anywhere anytime soon." The woman smirked.  
  
"May I at least know your name before you decide to antagonize me? I like to have a list of ready of ready retorts," I asked politely. The woman rolled her eyes at me.  
  
"Honestly, you're just like Barton."  
  
I sighed, already very bored with this small room and this somewhat cushy bed. Then I realized that I could just use my gifts. Stupid Gale. Reaching out with only my mind, I searched for the winds. After a couple of seconds, I came up with nothing. That's...not right. Not natural. Trying again and failing, I heard the woman hold back a laugh.  
  
"We took the liberty of upgrading your room. Not even the Hulk could get out of this place."  
  
That was both aggravating and disturbing. If they knew what the Hulk could and couldn't do, then...  
  
"Where. Am. I?" I gritted my teeth.  
  
"You're in SHIELD. We're an organization that exists to protect the human world from other-worldly threats, like aliens-"  
  
"And like teenage girls. Nice to know that you have your priorities all straightened out. Now, may I have your name?" I asked impatiently. If I knew her name, I could see if I had heard anything about her on the winds.  
  
"I'm Agent Romanoff." She waved off the question with a flick of her hand.  
  
"The Black Widow? Nice job in New York, by the way." I commented, enjoyed the discomfort that I obviously caused her.  
  
"And how do you know that?" Whoa, assassin mode on.  
  
"I took a trip to Russia." Technically true. I stowed away on a cruise ship that passed by Russia. The east winds were very helpful. "Now, may I speak to the man or woman in charge? I highly doubt that it's you," I smirked at Romanoff.  
  
Romanoff was obviously fed up with me at this point. She fastened these weird and smooth metal cuffs around my wrists. They locked onto my skin, refusing to slide or move in the slightest. Then the agent removed the restraints around my arms and ankles.  
  
"Those cuffs have enough drugs in them to drop a water buffalo. So don't misbehave." Romanoff pulled a wheelchair from somewhere behind me, and unfolded it.  
  
I tried in vain to get in it, but my stiff and aching limbs refused to move. Romanoff rolled her eyes (didn't anyone tell her they were going to get stuck like that?) and helped me into the wheelchair.  
  
There must have been a guard outside, because the door slid open without any visible help. As Agent Eye Roller wheeled me out, we passed about twenty guards, armed to the teeth.  
  
"Aww, I'm flattered. You really think I'm _this_ dangerous?" I said sweetly, batting my eyelashes.  
  
"One more word out of you and we're turning around," Romanoff grumbled.  
  
I made a series of hand gestures in ASL that meant 'Yes, Agent Mom. Would you like to stop by the local gas station to pick up some juice boxes and fruity snacks?'  
  
By the way that she was looking at me, I believe she knew ASL.  
  
I busied myself with observing the corridors we were passing through, mentally making a map of this place. How big was this anyway? By my reckoning, we had gone half a mile already, and we just got into the elevator. After a couple seconds of me twiddling my thumbs as we rose to whatever level we were headed, there was a cheerful 'ding!' and the doors opened.  
  
To my surprise, we were in a conference room. A big one, too, with a long wood and glass table and several chairs. On the wall at the far end was a symbol, one that looked like an eagle or something. Some of the chairs were filled, I noticed. Probably some important folks. I don't think they mattered, well, to me at least.  
  
" _This_ is the gifted individual?" A man with short brown hair and a small beard scoffed as he took in my appearance.   
  
"Tony Stark, billionaire and former CEO of Stark Industries, also known as Iron Man. You were one of the people who flew around in costumes at the Battle of New York, and the one that let a group of Chitauri slip into Brooklyn," I narrated dryly as Romanoff parked me right next the the head of the table.  
  
"What? No, nothing got past me. There would have been-" Stark tried to deny it.  
  
"A warning, chaos, people dying?" I interrupted. "I took care of it for you, by the way. You're welcome."  
  
Silence.  
  
"You guys didn't even notice?" I said slowly, grinning. "Wow. I'm better than I thought."  
  
"I'm sorry, but who are you? It was my understanding that SHIELD didn't lock up children." Steve Rogers, the patriot. From the 40s, likes chivalry, so it's perfectly understandable that he would object to seeing a teenage girl in a wheelchair with cuffs on.  
  
"Correctamundo, Mr. Rogers. But they do lock up people with gifts that they don't understand and can't control, and force them to work for them so that the gifted person can't affect their organization in any way, shape, or form." I said with a shrug. "And apparently, I'm guilty of sightseeing in New York and saving a little boy's life."  
  
"So why are we here? I mean, I don't understand why you need me to be here." A man with short and curly hair spoke up from the back.  
  
"Ah, Dr. Banner. Your work in the scientific field is unparalleled." I greeted the doctor. Turning to the only man who I didn't recognize, a man with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair, I frowned.  
  
"And I don't know who you are..." I cocked my head.  
  
"That's Hawkeye. He's the man who shot you with an electric arrow," Romanoff said, like she was waiting to see my reaction.  
  
I narrowed my eyes at him, and a smug little smile came across my face.  
  
"Why is she smiling? I don't like that smile." Tony said, speaking to no one.  
  
"I'm debating if it would be worth it to find a south wind that would burn you so bad that the Winchesters would mistake you for their mother." I mused, resting my chin on one hand.  
  
"Buuuuurn," Tony muttered under his breath.  
  
"You know, when we bring people in for the first time, they usually don't talk at all," Romanoff prompted as she took a seat next to Hawkeye.  
  
"Yes, I suppose that would happen often, because your method of 'bringing people in for the first time' is just a glorified way of saying 'knocked unconscious very painfully and kidnapped and threatened to be sedated'. I'd hate to see what happens on the first year anniversary. But in any case, I have the gift of forethought, which you quite obviously seem to not possess. I know that there is a high chance that I will be subdued should I try to escape before my injuries are fully healed. I know that there is a high chance until that point that I will be forced to tell you more about myself, seeing as you probably ran a world wide check on me and came up with a big fat nothing. So what I'm doing is that I'm purposefully dropping hints and suggestions so that you can build a basic profile on me, nothing more and nothing less, so that when you do decide to interrogate me I can just tell you that I've already told you, and I won't be lying. And I'm saying this because the more you think you understand me the more I've got you running in circles and when you think you've finally caught up with me, that's when I'll be right behind you, ready to pounce. So go ahead and try to figure me out, because I can guarantee you that you'll come up with nothing unless I want you to, and I can play this game for years if I have to. Your move."  
  
At the end of my speech, the room had lost all airs. Everybody was staring at me like I was an entirely different person. I casually scratched at the edge of the cast on my right calf, seemingly without a care in the world.  
  
"I like her." Tony broke the silence. When Steve gave him a look, Tony shrugged. "She's smart and she knows what she's doing. What's not to like?"  
  
"She managed to knock several agents to their knees in one blow. No permanent damage, but she was hardly even concentrating." Hawkeye said flatly, glaring at me.  
  
"Sorry, what's her gift again? I got called here in the middle of the night on some urgent yet inexpiable business and I don't even know what this is about." Dr. Banner interrupted.  
  
I stayed silent. If they didn't know, I wasn't telling.  
  
"Our scientists think that she controls the wind. She managed to stop the fall of a young boy, one that would have killed him, using only her gifts. She also was reported flying around New York at night." Romanoff spilled. Thank you, Madam Stay out of my Business.  
  
"So you're keeping her here for saving someone's life? I almost killed people, and you've treated me kinder." Dr. Banner said, indignant. Why would he say that...oh. This room was full of the Avengers, minus Thor, so that meant that he was the Hulk.  
  
"Apparently so. And by the way, you might have to take a sleeping bag to the lab if you want to stay overnight. From what I hear, they've rented out your room, and I'm the new customer," I said. From the way that Dr. Banner and Mr. Rogers looked, they were on the point of losing their cool.  
  
"So you can control the wind? What's that like?" Tony leaned towards me, curious.  
  
"Tony," Romanoff said with a warning in her voice.  
  
"Hey- I work independently from SHIELD. You just invite me in on most of the important things. I technically have every right to talk to your prisoner." Tony held up his hands. "And my lawyers are better than yours." He added as an afterthought.  
  
"My gift is...temperamental." I explained without giving too much away.  
  
"Like how? Explain it to me as if I'm five."  
  
"Tony, let's concentrate on the matter at hand." Hawkeye (I wonder what his actual name was...) chastised.  
  
"I _am_ the matter at hand." I said in a 'no duh' tone.  
  
"You know what, you sorta look familiar," Tony and I went back to our conversation. The others just groaned.  
  
I frowned. "I've never met you before."  
  
"JARVIS, where have I seen this girl before?" Tony took out his phone.  
  
"She is a street musician, and frequently plays outside of STARK Tower." JARVIS's smooth accent came from the small device.  
  
"My name is Gale, by the way," I drummed my fingers on the table, bored.  
  
"Oh, that's appropriate. Wait, so if you are an independent worker, and you technically were taken by force by some government organization without reason-" Tony trailed into a line of thought.  
  
"I was hitchhiking out of the city, but the man agreed to let me ride of his own free will." I elaborated.  
  
"Stark Industries technically is qualified to house gifted individuals, including the one and only Iron Man, so... pack your bags, kid." Tony clapped his hands together and stood up.  
  
"You can't do that! You have no right!" Hawkeye took his feet off of the table and stood.  
  
"Technically, I can. Seeing as the kid works for me-" Tony and I had identical smug grins on our faces.  
  
"Since when?" Romanoff scoffed. Tony faced me and held out his hand.   
  
"Welcome to Stark Industries, Miss Gale."   
  
I shook the offered hand. "Thank you, Mr. Stark." Savoring the looks on everyone else's faces, I held out my arms to Agent Romanoff. "Ahem. Cuffs."  
  
She scowled and took them off. Rubbing the spot where there had been, I closed my eyes and searched around for a wind. Just my luck; we were near a large fan or something of the sort that led outside. I wrangled a good east wind and wound it around the wheels of my chair.  
  
"Allonsy!" I said cheerfully and got the chair to roll forward, following Tony out of the door. Right before I vanished out of sight, I halted and turned to face the assortment of Avengers inside.  
  
"And that, mi amigos, is how you do it in style," I gave them a fake salute and rolled away.


	4. Oh, isn’t it wonderful to watch someone else get yelled at for a change?

I must say that I had always wanted to see the inside of Stark Towers. I made my living in its shadow, so why wouldn't I be curious? The smooth glass windows were tinted, hiding the offices and lobbies and the general indoors. I had always let my imagination run wild on what it would look like. Probably marble and steel and shiny stuff that would undoubtedly distract me. So do you know what the first thing out of my mouth was?  
  
"Oh, is this expensive? This looks expensive. And shiny. And what about this? This looks cool." My mouth was on autopilot as I pointed to several paintings and vases that stood in the gigantic lobby. The floors were polished to the point of blinding you if you stared for too long, and I felt self-conscious as I knew that my dirty and tattered clothes stuck out like a sore thumb.  
  
"Don't touch anything! Geez, kid. Hyperactive, much?" Tony pushed my wheelchair away from a fancy lamp, which I was about to play with.  
"Curious, not hyperactive. Don't be such a party pooper," I crossed my arms. Tony let go of the chair, and I quickly got a wind to keep me going.  
  
"Mr. Stark, welcome back." A slightly overweight security guard greeted the billionaire. He let Tony pass through the security barriers, but when I tried to follow him, the guard grabbed my wheelchair.  
  
"No fans are allowed past this point," he sniffed. I gave the man one of my most deadly glares, and after a few seconds, he shifted uncomfortably and looked away.  
"I am not a fan," I said slowly.  
"She's an employee. Buzz her through," Tony leaned back, noticing my sudden absence.  
  
I rolled through, not bothering to give the guard a second look. In the posh elevator, I twiddled my thumbs as soft music came on overhead. Frowning and cocking my head, I noticed something odd.  
  
"Is that... AC/DC?" I asked Tony. He nodded, seeming to approve my knowledge of rock bands. "At least you have a good taste in music."  
  
When we passed the office floors in the building, the back of the elevator revealed that it was transparent, and I had a gorgeous view of the city. The skyscrapers seemed smaller than ever, and the cars were nothing more that insects crawling slowly along the asphalt roads. "Not bad," I mused, turning away to face the city.  
"Usually people are more like 'ohmygod I'm standing next to Tony Stark' and less 'I see this every day'," Tony sounded a little put out. He was probably used to more fawning fangirls, anyway.  
  
"Well, I sorta do," I commented, turning to face him. "Do you think you're the only one that can fly, Mr. I Need A Metal Suit To Tour The Sky?"  
  
"Do you ever stop being sarcastic?"   
  
I put a finger on my chin, gazing off into the distance thoughtfully. "Let me see... please wait while I search for serious answers."  
  
I heard Tony scoff, and I swear I could also hear him roll his eyes. Just then, the doors behind me whooshed open with a pleasant 'ding'. Using a wind to push the chair forward, I rolled into a large living room, one that looked like it was used primarily for guests and parties. There was a balcony ringing three quarters of the room, with the side that faced the city being completely made up out of windows. There was, true to the Stark fashion, a bar in the corner. As I took in the sights, Tony wandered over to that bar and poured himself a glass of scotch.  
  
"You certainly spared no expense," I said a bit loudly, pushing myself to the center of the bottom floor.  
  
"Yeah. It's nice, but could you keep your voice down? I don't want-" Tony warned me. A bit too late, it seemed.  
  
"Tony! You're back!" A cheerful voice called from behind me. Walking towards us was a person whom I recognized from the papers, the new CEO of Stark Industries: Ms. Pepper Potts. She walked right up next to Tony with a bright smile on her face. I settled back in my chair, eager to see what would happen next.  
  
"Hi, Pepper." Tony greeted his assistant with a bit of hesitation.   
  
"I didn't get a memo yesterday. What was so urgent that you had to leave right away?"  
  
"Uh, it was nothing. Nothing at all, Pepper," Tony visibly gulped. Ah, now I see the true master in this relationship. Pepper had full command of things around here, and it was very entertaining to see Tony struggle. Even Iron Man couldn't stand up to his girlfriend.  
  
"Nothing's name is Gale, by the way," I said, waving my hand. Pepper looked around, startled, when she heard me. Am I that invisible? Huh, add that to my list of superpowers.  
  
"Oh, I didn't see you! I'm so sorry, this is terribly unprofessional-" she floundered, trying to explain herself. I waved it off.  
"I'm homeless, so I don't have very high standards." Once again, I turned people speechless with my conversations.  
  
"She's an employee," Tony said, like that would change anything.  
"I haven't seen you anywhere," Pepper frowned. I grinned as I realized what had been going on. Tony didn't tell Pepper anything, Pepper wanted to find out, Tony didn't want that. So what was I going to do?  
  
Tony apparently saw my plan in my eyes, because he made a frantic jerking motion across his neck while mouthing _No for the love of all things good please don't do it_.  
  
"That's because I got hired about an hour ago," I grinned cheerfully. Tony banged his head softly against the counter as Pepper put her hands on her hips, a frown appearing on her face.  
  
"So I assume you have prior experience?" It was now time for a mandatory interrogation, one that I was happy to be subjected to, if it meant that I could mortally embarrass someone.  
  
"I'm a street musician with no current job with a steady pay." Oh yes, I could feel the sarcasm bubbling up from within me.  
  
"Are you a child genius or something like that?"  
  
"I never finished high school."  
  
"What jobs do you think you could do?"  
  
"I've been told I make a great third-wheel friend. If you two wanna watch a romantic movie together, hey, I found a Blue-ray disc of The Vow in the dumpster near the deli on 5th. "  
  
Pepper had an unreadable expression on her face, while I was still grinning, completely happy with my answers. Tony was most likely paralyzed in shock and fear, and he made an attempt to leave the room without being noticed.  
  
"Tony? Please stay here for a moment," Pepper closed her eyes, obviously restraining herself, and Tony immediately sat down on his chair like a little boy getting scolded by his mother. I reached into a bowl of M&Ms that was on the table next to me and popped a few in my mouth. This was better than watching the deli manager and the ice cream shop owner fight over who got more customers. Hint, it involved raised voices, some Italian swear words, and the occasional flying sandwich or pretzel fluffer nutter flavored ice cream. _Extremely_ entertaining.  
  
"I can explain-" Tony started.  
"Oh really? No offense, Gale-"  
  
"None taken." I said sagely.  
  
"- but you can't go around hiring people out of the blue! She has absolutely nothing to offer this company-"  
  
"I take that back. Some offense taken."  
  
"- there's a waiting list that's hundreds of pages long full of hopeful applicants! Not to mention that we don't need any more job spots filled! I am working harder than ever to try to keep this company afloat, and you're acting like you don't care!"  
  
"Pepper, she does have a special talent-" Tony interrupted.  
  
"What?! Does she staple papers? Or maybe she can figure out how the coffee machine works?!"  
  
"Ouch. Hurtful. But I see your point. Except for me being incompetent-" I shrugged.  
"I'm sorry, Gale, but you can't work here." Pepper said with the air of someone who knows they've won.  
  
"But Pepper-" Tony complained.  
"Silence." Pepper said icily. Tony shut his mouth.  
  
"Well, Ms. Potts, you're correct on one account. I cannot work a coffee machine to save my life. I prefer hot chocolate or tea. But I do have something to offer this company." I said simply, folding my hands across my stomach.  
  
"Well then, what?" Pepper must have been having a bad day. Even the west wind that was circling around the room was uneasy.  
"Well, it might have to do with the fact that you're in the presence of a gifted individual, as SHIELD likes to call those who they kidnap, sedate, and commit to a wheelchair."  
  
I waited for her to get it (I waited for quite some time).  
  
"Of course." I nodded at Pepper's response, grinning. "I mean, I guess that Iron Man counts, although he's going to be in for lots of trouble later."  
  
"No no no, not him," I groaned. This was taking longer than I thought. I was running out of witty things to say, and that was really depressing for me. So I decided to kick it up a notch. I took that west wind and wrapped it around a glass. I filled it up with water from the tap, which was over on the other side of the room, and took it back over to me. Grabbed the glass with one hand, I took a sip. "Even the water tastes better in here. Not as good as mineral water from Europe, but beggars can't be choosers." I mused.  
  
Pepper's face was priceless. "You- you're a - you're a superhero?"  
  
"Oh, heavens no. Not a superhero. Not by a long shot. I'm more of a... free spirit, if you will."  
  
"See? I told you she-" Tony chimed in.  
"Tony, you and I are going to have a very long talk about priorities and a thing called a mouth. Your mouth usually lets other people know what you want to say, and sometimes it's best if they know things sooner or later. You should have absolutely no problem using it." Pepper smiled coldly.  
"Oh, Tony buddy, what flowers would you like me to place on your casket? And is Chopin okay for the ambiance?" I muttered gleefully into my glass before taking another sip.  
"And you, Miss...what's your last name again?" Pepper turned around. I looked around and then finally realized she was talking to me (you'd be surprised how often people forget that I'm in the room).  
"I...don't have one." I admitted, shrugging.  
Pepper scoffed. "Everybody's got a last name."  
"Not me."  
"Then what were your parents' names?" Tony spoke up, trying to move the conversation off of him.  
The grin vanished from my face quicker than the last smartphone on Black Friday. "I don't like to talk about that." I wheeled myself over to the sink that was close to the bar and poured the rest of my water down it, and carefully placed the glass in the bottom of the sink.  
"C'mon, Gale-" Tony persisted.  
I sharply wheeled myself around to face the two adults using the winds. Gathering up that peaceful western breeze, I warped it and wrapped it around myself so that they could see the ripples in the air cascading down and around my body. "I said," I growled. "I don't like to talk about that."  
Pepper turned a bit pale, and I saw the too familiar glint of fear in her eyes.  
"I'm not going to hurt you, Miss Potts." I shook my head, my voice a bit more gentle. "God knows I've learned my lesson." I added the last part very quietly.  
"So," Tony clapped his hands and broke the silence. "Let's have Jarvis show you a place where you can stay for the time being, and Pepper and I will have that talk."   
"Tony-!" Pepper exclaimed as he walked over and all but pulled her towards an adjoining room.  
"Don't break anything, okay?" The billionaire spoke over his shoulder as he and his girlfriend vanished from sight.  
And then I was left alone in the gigantic room, full of fragile and delicate objects. Wheeling over to a desk where a glass swan figurine sat, I reached out for it.  
"No touching!" Tony shouted from who-knows-where. I then picked it up using the wind. Ah, technicalities.  
"Miss Gale, if you would please move down the hall to your left, I can show you to your room." Jarvis's calm British accent interrupted my moment of self-appreciation.  
"Lead on, Alfred."   
"I am afraid I do not know what you mean."  
As I rolled down the hallway that Jarvis mentioned, I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, Jarvis, I'm homeless and even I know who Batman's butler is."  
"Touche, Miss Gale."  
I passed by several rooms with glass windows looking in, including a gym, a personal movie theater (I made a mental note to raid their popcorn stash while I was here), and a lab that had several chemical substances bubbling merrily on the worktables.  
"Okay, drop the whole 'miss' thing. It's just Gale." I ordered the AI.  
"Turn right at the next intersection, Gale."  
"That's better."  
Jarvis directed me towards a door at the end of the smaller hallway. As I approached it, it swung open automatically. "Jarvis, if that was you, don't do that. I don't want people to be able to come into this place willy nilly."  
"As you wish, Gale."  
I rolled into the room, taking in the sights. It was small, to say the least. There was room for a twin bed in one corner with grey sheets, a desk and a chair opposite from that, and a simple dresser pressed up against the wall that the door was on. Everything was bland, too; shades of grey, brown, and wait for it...more grey!  
But the worst part was that there was only one window. Maybe two feet across, square shaped, and placed at chest height. Being in a wheelchair meant I could look through just fine, but once I got out of it, I'd have to crouch. But the view was sorta nice, and I looked down at the city that never slept. A dry smiled tugged at the corners of my mouth.  
I wouldn't be here for long, and I knew that all too well. When the time came to leave, they wouldn't notice I was gone until they'd hear about some freak occurrence in Europe involving the wind. Ah, well, you know what they say.  
Keep your head up high, your feet on the road, your mind on the future, and your heart out with the wild.


	5. Apparently, I am not to be trusted with any flammable or sharp objects (probably for the best)

I can't really say how long it was before Jarvis told me it was time for dinner. Mostly because I was trying to scratch my right calf underneath the cast and the unbearable agony of not being able to reach the itch was severely affected my ability to perceive time. I do however recall spending a good hour or so debating whether or not it would be worth it to wheel myself to the elevator, find the roof, and throw myself off of it. Honestly, I was that bored. Then again, my survival instincts would most likely kick in and stop myself from hitting the ground via my best friend and worst enemy: the wind.

"Gale? Mr. Stark wishes to inform you that a supper has been prepared in the main room." Jarvis's awesome accent came on over the somehow invisible speakers. I think Stark managed to wire them into the ceiling, but hey, I don't know anything about engineering, much less how normal people do things.

"Gods, finally," I groaned, throwing my head back in my wheelchair. As I manually wheeled myself down the hallway (ugh, work), I heard the vague sounds of conversation going on in the main room. When I eventually got there, I found myself back in the gigantic room. This time, though, I really took in the space.

This floor was huge by itself, but seeing as it was connected to the upper level and created an open air environment, it was... enormous. My dumpster home was about the size of the smallest couch here. And not to mention that everything- and I mean _everything-_ was meticulously by the staff, no doubt, so I felt like a big grease spot in the White House. But I ever was in the White House, it would probably be because I did something stupid (and very fun) and tried to break in. Come on, everybody's thought about doing that.

"Hey, Gale!" A loud voice brought my out of my amazement. Looking over to where a cluster of low couches and coffee tables were located on one of the levels overlooking the floor, I saw a couple of people sitting there.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite person in the entire universe," I grumbled as I recognized Agent Barton from that SHIELD place. Wheeling myself up a ramp, I approached their little group. A stack of ten or so pizza boxes was piled on a table in the middle of some couches, next to a handful of liter bottles of soda.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite person in the entire universe," Barton mocked in a whiny voice.

Frowning, I grabbing a good south wind that passing by a nearby open window and thrust it at him. Barton yelped as he shot straight up from where he was sitting and grabbed the seat of his pants.

"I told you I'd burn you if you crossed me," I mildly reminded him as I stopped my chair and folded my hands across my stomach leisurely.

"Okay, she's official awesome. Even Nat can't get away with that." Stark chuckled as he took a swig of whatever alcohol was in his glass. 

"That stuff stinks," I wrinkled my nose as the odor hit me in the face.

"It's all the way over here!" Stark protested, motioning to where he was on the opposite side of the table from me.

I waved a hand in the air around me. "Wind, remember? Really good at carrying things."

"How'd you get it?" A quiet voice broke through the conversation. I looked to my right and saw Dr. Banner adjusting his glasses awkwardly. He then looked up at me curiously. 

"Why're you here?" I asked him, confused. "Wait a second-" I did a quick head count. In addition to Agent Jerk-wad, the doctor, and Stark, there was also Ms. Potts and that female agent Romanoff. "Why's there so many people?"

They all looked to Stark for him to explain. He sighed and set down his glass. "Kid-"

"Call me kid and you'll never see the light of day again."

"Gale," Stark corrected himself, a tiny bit paler. "There were a few... conditions, that I had to work out with you coming here. SHIELD can't take you back without facing serious disagreement from me, which counts for a lot. I mean, half of their technology is mine. But they agreed to not interfere here directly, so..." he trailed off.

"So?" I raised an eyebrow, not enjoying where this was going. 

"Aside from when they have to go on missions, Barton and Romanoff are staying here. And Bruce- well, he already stays here, and I'm not gonna kick him out 'cause you're anti-social-"

"You want Agents Jerk-wad and Mommy to make sure I don't save another kid's life? Or gods forbid, take a trip to Central Park a couple hundred feet in the air?" I raised my voice in anger. No way I was gonna settle for this! Being cooped up in a building was as bad as being back in whatever cell SHIELD kept me in. I'd die before I went to a place like that.

"Hey, it's that or some SHIELD approved location. And trust me, those are awful," Stark advised.

I glared at him before settling back into my chair. "Fine," I muttered underneath my breath.

"What was that?" Barton said innocently, despite him sitting directly on my left and being within perfect hearing range.

"I said fine!" I snapped at him, feeling an ice cold surge of energy swell up in my eyes.

Barton looked taken aback for a second, and then a stony expression took over his face. His working look, I assume. But I knew what he saw. My normally dark eyes, the ones that on most occasions were practically black- were shot through with pure silver. Lowering my head, I closed my eyes and willed them to return to normal. When I felt the coldness leave, I raised my head back up. Everybody was staring.

"I'll just repeat my question and ask what everyone's thinking: how'd you do that?" Dr. Banner said softly. I looked at him with something akin to contempt.

"How do you think?" I smiled coldly, devoid of any humor.

Stark and Miss Potts shrugged, the agents thought about it for a moment, and Dr. Banner frowned. "You don't like me very much, do you?" He observed.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" I rolled my eyes.

"So a doctor gave you your gift?" Miss Potts tilted her head.

"Nope," I popped the 'p'. "But they've caused me a lot of grief over the years."

"Radiation?" Barton guessed. I gave him a look.

"Sure, because it's every kid's dream to jump into a nuclear tank. And when did it become 20 questions?" I said as I leaned forward and snatched an entire pizza box. Lifting the lid, I grinned as I saw it was a meat-lover's style.

"Hey, I want some too!" Barton whined.

"Shut it, Agent Jerk-wad." I replied through a mouthful of cheese and sausage.

The others seemed to be content with moving on with the conversation, and grabbed various slices of pizza. Sooner or later, we had all stuffed ourselves to the brim and were wiping the grease off of our fingers in satisfaction.

"So..." I started. "Do I get to know your names? I mean, I'm on basically on house arrest for the rest of my life. I might as well get to know you guys."

"That's Natasha-" Stark pointed to Romanoff.

"Call me Nat and you'll regret it," she threatened me. I held up my hands in a 'I'm not going there' gesture.

"- and that's Clint," the genius nodded at Barton. "Though, I do like your nickname for him."

"That's not what you guys are calling me!" Barton glowered.

"That's the great thing about nicknames, sweetie," I said in mock sympathy. "You don't choose one for yourself."

Just then, I heard a beeping sound coming from Stark's direction. He pulled out his phone and checking something, before standing up. "Jarvis is done with my suit upgrades in the lab," he elaborated. "I'm heading down there for a while. Gotta make sure that the idiot robot doesn't douse everything with the fire extinguisher again." With a quick peck on the cheek for Miss Potts, he trotted down the stairs and vanished.

"Well," I said after a pause. "I'm going to go to my room, hopefully fall asleep, and then wake up back in my dumpster and realize that this all never happened." I started wheeling myself down the ramp.

"Wait a second- dumpster? You were homeless?" Dr. Banner said, sounding a bit concerned. I turned back to face him.

"I didn't exactly have a big fancy tower like this one," I said with a slight laugh. And then I headed down to the hallway that led to my room. When I got there, I stopped for a second and chuckled, remembering what I had just told them. That I didn't have a tower like the Avenger's Tower. True, I guess. I didn't have a home specifically like this one. But in terms of towers- a long time ago, I wasn't so lacking in that department. Before I came here, before I first touched foot in America.

But I pushed those unsavory thoughts out of my head as I managed to swing myself onto my bed. Gingerly taking off my shoes, I winced as the friction sent little pings of pain through my legs. Gods, this was gonna take a while to heal. Maybe six, seven weeks. My powers did help to speed things up, after all. Two months here couldn't be that bad... right?

The next morning, I woke up to AC/DC blaring through my room. Shooting upright, I instinctively wrapped every wind in the room around me, creating a bubble of protection- before I heard the laughter outside my door. Releasing the winds, I somehow got myself back into my wheelchair and angrily moved to the door. Yanking it open, I saw the retreating figures of Stark and Barton running down the hallway.

Growling, I rolled out to the main room, where morning sunlight was filtering in through the windows. The two men were huddled around the counter-top in the adjoining kitchen, furtively whispering. Coming up behind them, I used a strong north wind to knock them off of their feet. They hit the ground, yelping and looking around, but laughing when they saw me.

"You," I gritted my teeth, "are dead."

"How- how was your alarm?" Stark asked through his giggles.

"Yeah, I heard that waking up to music is considered very soothing," Barton sounded like he was ready to burst with laughter.

"I'm going to take your fists and shove them so far up your butts that you guys can reach down your throats with the other hand and shake them," I uttered.

"Sure thing," Stark wiped away a tear of mirth. Clenching my fist, I yanked the men upright. Their smiles disappeared.

"Any last words?" I asked them sweetly.

"Do that and I'll shoot you," I heard Romanoff come up from behind me. Rolling my eyes, I released Barton and Stark. Romanoff started making a pot of coffee.

"Nobody has a sense of humor here, I see." I rolled over to the row of shelves and reached up to grab a box of instant oatmeal. Frowning as my hand was just out of reach, I used the winds and brought it down to me. Deciding that that method was the better of my options, I just sat back as I concentrated and prepared myself a nice breakfast of oatmeal using my powers. When I finally rolled to the table, I noticed that the present adults had been watching me.

"What?" I said through a mouthful of food. "It's not like I'm gonna stand up and do it myself."

They shrugged and went back to... whatever they were doing. It's not like I was interested. 

"You said 20 questions last night," Romanoff said as she sat down next to me. "Why don't we play?" I gave her a skeptical glance.

"I'm not able to drive yet but I'm not a kid."

"How about I do it too?" She offered. I looked at her with renewed interest.

"And you'll answer honestly?"

"Will you?"

"Touche," I grinned. "So what exactly are you, besides an Avenger and an agent?"

Romanoff took a sip of her dark coffee. "Assassin, mostly."

"Really?" I nodded. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"I thought that's what you did for a living."

I shook my head. "I don't really... hate people. There's a couple exceptions. But I think a better term is indifferent."

"And why's that?"

I looked back at my oatmeal. This was getting personal already. But hey, if I just avoided specific answers, I'd be good. "I'm not really good with normal folks. I've just stopped caring about what happens to them."

"But you said you stopped a group of Chitauri from getting into Brooklyn. And you saved that little boy's life," Stark joined in as he sat down across from Romanoff.

I grinned dryly. "They were going to die. That's the one thing I'll get involved for. Anything but that- somebody else can take care of it. So, Agent Mommy, where'd you learn to fight?"

Romanoff broke eye contact and looked down. "If I'm being honest, you have to swear to do the same."

I stared at her for a moment. "Sure."

She leaned back in her chair, obviously trying to retain her composure. "I was recruited by a... special agency. Everything I know, I learned there."

"Stop." I ordered her. Romanoff looked up at me in surprise. "I don't want to know anything you're that reluctant to tell. I prefer to remain indebted, in the verbal and moral sense." 

"Alright then. One sided questions?" She smoothly transitioned. I could see, though, that she was somewhat glad I wasn't prying into her business.

I folded my hands in my lap and nodded at her. "Fire away, Agent Mommy."

"Favorite color?"

I snorted. "Seriously? Are you trying to get me to stab you with my spoon?"

"That'd be fun to watch," Stark chuckled, like he was watching a movie.

"Grey," I answered Romanoff's question while shooting a glare at Stark.

"Grey? That's such a boring color," Barton rolled his eyes as he sat down with a bowl of cereal on the other side of Romanoff.

"It's the closest color you normal humans have to what the wind looks like to me," I explained.

"The wind... has a color?" Stark said skeptically.

I nodded. "You people can't see it, of course. It's kinda like a... cool, winding shade that twists around everything. Grey's the closest to that."

The sounds of messy eating interrupted me. Looking up, I saw Barton furiously digging into his breakfast. Making a face, I used the winds to lift the bowl out of his reach. "If you're gonna eat like that, you might wanna move to another room. Afterall, I do have an unused spoon nearby."

"Okay, you wanna play like that?" Barton said. "Question number four: where are your parents?"

Stark violently made 'cut it' motions, remembering what I had said yesterday. Romanoff was curiously staring at Stark, and Barton was looking all smug and confident. I, however, was gripping my spoon with enough force to bend it.

"Next question," I gritted my teeth.

"Not until you answer mine," Barton shot back. "I wanna know why you're all alone."

"No," I refused, forcing myself to let go of my silverware, feeling the cold build up inside of me. The spoon clattered to the table, drawing attention, but Barton still was stubbornly staring at me.

"What happened? Do they know you're here by yourself? Did you get a permission slip signed then, making sure you don't have to worry about being around them if you get angry and your powers go off? Maybe they didn't want a daughter who wasn't normal, or they just thought you were too much to care for-" Barton continued.

"SHUT UP!" I roared. With a gesture, I pulled Barton up out of his seat and slammed him down on the table. The sound of my own heartbeat drowned out anything else. "If you _dare_ speak about my parents like that, I will rip you apart, inch by inch, until there's nothing left-"

A loud click rang out clearer than the pounding in my ears. Blinking, I slightly turned my head, confused.

"Let him go," Romanoff's detached voice echoed through my anger. I was still looking at Barton, who was struggling for breath. And then I remembered all of the awful things he just said, and I narrowed my eyes and tightened my grip.

"Or I will shoot," Romanoff continued. That caught my attention. Turning to my left, I saw that she was pointing a hand gun directly at me, and her hand wasn't shaking. Reluctantly, I dispersed the winds that were choking Barton, and he coughed, trying to get air back into his lungs.

"Nice toy you've got, Agent," I said coldly. "How long has that been under the table?"

"Since we've had dangerous individuals living here," she answered calmly, lowering the gun slightly.

I stared straight at her, knowing full well that my eyes were molten silver. "I hope," I said, taking a deep breath. "For your sake, you don't have to use it."

And then I wheeled my chair around using my hands, and went back to my room, ignoring the silence that I left in the kitchen. Once I was there, I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to shake off the feelings that filled me up. Anger, hate- and the one that I was too familiar with and terrified me at the same time: the willingness to go too far and hurt someone.

As I was trying to calm myself down, I heard a faint voice coming from outside. Confused, I wheeled myself to the door but didn't open it, and instead wrapped a west wind around me and fed it through to where the voice was coming from.

"...took him by surprise." It was Romanoff, no doubt about it. But she seemed to be talking on the phone, so if I tried just a bit harder...

"Did she hurt him?" There was a man on the other end of the call, maybe mid to late forties.

"No, but he lost his breath. Literally."

"And this was all instinctive?"

"Completely. It was like swatting a fly for her. A fly that doesn't move an inch, really."

"And what about the rest? How much do you know?"

"From the way she talked about her parents... maybe an attachment disorder. She might not've been close to them, or they could've been taken out of her life at a young age. Probably an oppositional defiant disorder too, judging on how she talks to adults. And she's gonna be hard to keep in this tower, that's for sure."

"You little..." I muttered as I realized Romanoff was talking about me. Mental disorders? This is exactly why I don't like adults. Always acting like they know best, always screwing things up for the rest of us.

"Keep me informed, Romanoff. And let's hope we don't have another Hulk-type situation on our hands with this one." The man said, and I heard the tell-tale beep of the call disconnecting. Then footsteps made their way down the hall and towards my door. Quickly wheeling over to the window to make it look like I hadn't been eavesdropping, I got there just in time before my door opened.

"You know, I told Jarvis to make the doors lock when I was in here," I commented idly, staring out at the city.

"Safety precaution," Romanoff said from behind me, and I heard her close the door. "We don't want there to be an accident where you can't get out quickly."

I turned around to face her. "Really? So it's not because you want me under constant supervision."

Romanoff sat down on the edge of my bed and looked around.

"No, please, make yourself at home," I grumbled as I wheeled around towards her.

"Sorry if my questions... offended you," she said, judging my expression.

I rolled my eyes. "Look, Agent Mommy, drop the act."

"What act?"

"The one where you're trying to get on my good graces. I'm guessing that whoever bosses you around told you to get on first-name terms with me, so that you can customize my shiny new cell back at your base," I smirked at her.

Romanoff shook her head, her red hair bouncing slightly. I frowned at the sight. "What?" She asked.

"It's... nothing," I decided. "So you're not going to deny what I just said?"

Romanoff laughed. "You're smarter than we expected. Why bother hiding the truth when you've already figured it out?"

"Well, I just happen to have an extremely pessimistic take on life, so it's not all smarts."

"Right..." Romanoff trailed off.

I was silent for a moment. "How old?" I finally said, my voice soft.

She looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

"How old were you when you pulled the trigger?"

Romanoff stopped moving, and her expression became guarded.

"You said you were an assassin, and that you were recruited by a 'special agency'. How old were you when you killed for the first time?"

"I was only a kid. Much younger than you." Romanoff answered quietly.

"Now there's the trust," I leaned back. "Killer's code, right?"

"You've killed?" The woman said in surprise.

"I was seven. There was a mugger with a knife on the way home from school. Enough said." I shrugged casually, as if discussing the wind.

Romanoff shook her head. "Your problem, not mine," she muttered.

"Amen, _mamochka_."

"And now you know Russian. I'm honestly losing my ability to be surprised."

"If you're an assassin, I sure hope you've already lost it. I can't imagine what happens to your coworkers on April Fool's Day," I chuckled.

"Miss Romanoff, Mister Barton requests your presence in the main room," Jarvis interrupted our conversation. Romanoff stood up and rolled her shoulders leisurely.

"Don't think that this chat makes us friends. I still don't like you," I warned her as she opened the door.

"And I still think you're a waste of time," Romanoff shot back with a smug smile as she vanished from sight.

"Hey!" I shouted in indignation. "I'm a joy to be around!"


	6. Did you really expect me to just give up?

One week.

_Thud._

Seven days.

_Thud._

168 hours.

_Thud._

10,080 minutes.

_Thud._

6,048,00 seconds.

I threw the rubber-band ball up again, making another _thud_ as it hit the ceiling. Maybe I should calculate the nanoseconds, seeing as I had nothing better to do.

"I'm boooooored," I groaned as I tossed the ball up once more. But before it could get far, an arrow skewered it through the middle and pinned it to the wall behind me. Dropping my head down to its normal position, I glared at Barton, who was sitting on a nearby table with a smug look on his face.

"Well, maybe you can shut up about it," the man replied. "Or you could wheel yourself as fast as you can across the room and give me some good target practice."

I made a face at him. "If it's target practice you're looking for, try your ego. It's certainly large enough to accommodate that awful aim."

"Can you two just stop bickering like children for a moment?" Dr. Banner spoke up from the back of the lab. 

Us three were currently in one of the many 'science' rooms that Stark had built. Dr. Banner was doing something with a microscope (don't ask me; the peak of my intelligence allowed me to know which end of a scalpel you didn't want to be at), and I was just killing time. Barton had followed me into the lab, probably because I'm on house arrest until I die (or he dies; I'm sure that can be arranged rather easily), and Dr. Banner was most likely growing tired of our conversation.

"I'm not a kid," Barton frowned. "She is."

"If we're taking your emotional maturity into consideration-"

"Just quiet down, alright? I need to focus," Dr. Banner said exasperatedly.

I immediately began to use ASL to continue throwing silent insults at Barton. He replied with enthusiasm, and pretty soon we were basically tossing out words and rather unpleasant gestures at alarming speeds. And then Romanoff walked in, right as I was shoving a particular finger in Barton's general direction.

"Whoa there, guys. Don't get too far into it. Stark would be upset if you burned his tower to the ground," Romanoff said.

"Nat, finally," Barton sighed in relief. "Now I've got someone to back me up."

"Я знал это. Вы, ребята, партнеры, не так ли?" I asked her. ( _I knew it. You guys are partners, right?)_

"And now she knows Russian," Barton threw his hands up in the air. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"For starters, figure out how someone as annoying as you exists."

Barton scowled and was about to retaliate when Romanoff stepped between us. "Clint, we've gotta go."

"Go where?" He and I asked in unison.

"Mission." Romanoff said shortly.

"Yay!" I clapped my hands. "That means I don't have to deal with Agent Jerk-wad for a while!"

Dr. Banner shook his head as the two agents walked out of the room without further conversation (Barton gave me a mean look as he exited). When they were gone, I wheeled over to the wall and yanked my rubber-band ball + arrow out. I crossly pulled out the latter and started tossing the ball up at the ceiling again.

"You know, if you deliberately try to be mean, it's going to make staying here a lot worse," Dr. Banner advised as he jotted down a few notes on a pad of paper, then went back to looking through the microscope.

"It's hard to be civil when one of my new roommates shot me with an electric arrow, one of them threatened to sedate me and seems to take joy and killing people who cross her, one is a genius who can't see past the next party or whiskey bottle, and the last seems to think that everything is peachy keen and probably is gonna marry the said genius."

Dr. Banner paused for a second. "And what about me?"

I tilted my head to the side, confused. "What about you?"

He leaned back from the microscope. "You didn't mention me. At least, I don't think so."

I snorted. "Unless you're secretly some anti-superhero, pro-normalcy extremist, I don't think I've got any reason to be at odds with you. For the moment, at least."

"And why's that?" Dr. Banner asked me curiously.

"You scientists," I shook my head. "Always asking questions, always trying to figure out the _how_ and the _why_." I paused. "Truth is, you remind me of someone."

"Who?"

I wheeled around, approaching another table. Picking up a tiny tool- I think they were some sort of tweezers- I examined it. "My uncle. He was a doctor too."

Dr. Banner leaned back in his chair. "You don't really seem like the type to share about your family."

"And maybe it's 'cause you make me think of them that I'm telling you," I said absentmindedly, turning the tool in the light.

"Why are you telling _me_?"

I set the tool down and turned around to face him, expression eerily impassive. "I'm nothing if not for my instincts. Some say those'll get you killed, some say it makes you dang near impossible to bring down. But you know, the wind is pure in the sense that it's raw. It tears you down right to the core and it leaves no mask, no disguise standing. So when I say that you remind me of someone who I knew to be a good person, someone who never gave up on a lost soul when they found their way to his doorstep- I know I can tell you about it. I know you're not going to use that information to your advantage."

Dr. Banner stared at me. "Thanks."

"For what?" I frowned.

"For trusting me enough to share that."

I laughed. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I haven't trusted anybody in years."

"Well, you've never met me."

"Dr. Banner, do I sense a hint of pride in your voice?" I gasped and placed a hand delicately on my chest.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "The world must be ending."

"That indeed," I murmured under my breath. "That indeed."

After that conversation with Dr. Banner, I began to loosen up. I think I talked more, even though it was mostly sarcasm (my first language) and a steady stream of retorts. Maybe I even laughed, like genuinely laughing. Mostly at other's expense, but it still stands. I finally began to stretch my legs (in the figurative sense, of course) and explored what I could in the Avengers Tower.

Okay, the movie theater was great. The buttered popcorn was to die for. And the air vents were positioned just right, so if Agent Jerk-wad was crawling around up there (when he was back from his missions, of course), I could send a blast of freezing cold or burning hot wind his way. Not to mention that my poker face was incredible, so when Barton dropped out from the ceiling, I was the image of innocence. 'Oh, sorry, Jerk-wad. I think one of Stark's robots is messing with the air-conditioner.' See?

And speaking of my new residence- I hated it. Don't get me wrong, remember that movie theater? But I hated being cooped up, I hated not being able to take my usual flights, I hated not being in the fresh air for so long. But I guess that having other people here made it somewhat bearable. At least there was fresh meat to annoy.

"Hey, Gale."

I turned my head in response as Stark himself called my name. Currently, I was playing cards with Romanoff and losing miserably. Somehow she managed to predict my every move before I even knew what I was gonna do. We usually passed the time like this, when Barton was somewhere where I didn't care as long as he wasn't here, and there was nothing better to do.

Two more weeks had passed since the conversation with Dr. Banner in the lab, and honestly, I hadn't seen him that often since that. I think he and his science bro were working on some new project, and those two spent most of their time in Stark's restricted lab.

Gods, two weeks. I had spent most of the time either holed up in my room, trying to figure out how to get out of here and away from SHIELD for good. Sometimes I appeared in the main room, just for a change of scenery. In fact, Romanoff and I started playing cards together a while ago because she walked in on me trying to make gravity-defying card castles (which failed. Multiple times. Miserably.). And in terms of the necessities- well, I had to figure out how to take a shower with a cast on (totally worth the three hours of cursing liberally in Russian). I usually snuck out into the kitchen at night, when the others were asleep, and stockpiled things like crackers and Canadian bacon for the times when I thought that human interaction was overrated (about 96% of the time). 

Regardless of the fancy theater and the movies and the other stuff that Avengers Tower had to offer, I was getting restless. I needed to get out, I needed to feel the wind again- the proper wind, not the air conditioning. And besides, my clothes were starting to fall apart. I had maybe a couple of extra shirts, a few pairs of jeans, and a pair of socks that didn't match. The endless washing of them every other day was starting to wear down the seams. But until I could do anything else, I was stuck here, playing endless games of cards with Romanoff...

"I've never been more thankful to hear your irritating voice," I said to Stark as I swiveled my wheelchair around.

"And... I win," Romanoff said as she scooped up the pile of loose change in the middle of the table.

"Gods dang it, woman. Would it kill ya to lose for once?" I grumbled.

"Okay," Stark protested as he approached us. "I'm not irritating."

Me and Romanoff glared at him until he shifted in uneasiness.

"What do you want, Stark?" I sighed as Romanoff started shuffling the cards.

"Not me. Well, technically speaking, it's me. But I'm really just the messenger-" Stark rambled, and I noticed that he was holding a piece of paper in one hand. Losing patience, I used a wind to snatch it out of his fingers and bring it over to me. As he rolled his eyes, I quickly scanned the paper.

"Wait...today?" I looked up at Stark for confirmation. He nodded and shrugged.

"I guess you heal faster than us 'normal' humans."

Romanoff looked between us. "What's going on?"

I turned to her in excitement. "My cast! I'm getting it off!" I giggled in anticipation.

"Come on, kid, let's get going. The hospital isn't exactly close from here and I don't wanna be away from my workshop any longer. One of the stupid robots is bound to cover everything with the fire extinguisher." Stark rolled his eyes again.

"By all means! Идти! Go!" I waved my hands in the air as I used the wind to wheel myself quickly towards the elevator. 

"Just wait for me, you little demon," Stark grumbled as he joined me. Pressing the button for the garage, Stark leaned against the wall casually. I, on the other hand, was drumming my fingers on my leg anxiously. The usual rock music came on the overhead speakers, and I almost laughed at Stark's taste in music. AC/DC. I wasn't really that surprised.

"So I'll be able to walk again after this? I won't need the wheelchair? And what about my ribs? Does this mean I'm fully healed?" I rattled as the doors opened again, this time to the garage.

"Just get in the car," Stark rolled his eyes.

"Which one?" I gestured to the row of Maserati's, Lamborghini's, and BMW's.

"Shut up."

I grinned as he strode towards a black sports car- all sleek curves and incredibly aerodynamic. Stark got himself into the driver's seat as I tried to open the passenger side door without hitting my wheelchair. Frowning, I was able to pop it open with a wind, but then I had to get myself into the seat...

"Oh, for the love of God," Stark groaned as he got back out of the car and walked around to where I was.

"Wait- what are you-" I frowned as he approached me. Then Stark swiftly grabbed my shoulders and helped me into the passenger seat. I say helped. More like dumped. I had to wiggle myself around until I was actually facing the right direction.

Stark started the car, and I allowed myself a moment to listen to the sweet purr of the engine. Running my hands lightly over the dashboard, I grinned. "Man, I should get kidnapped and held prisoner more often. These cars are niiiiiiiiiiiiiice."

"Stop drooling and buckle up," Stark pulled out of the space and towards the garage door.

"'Ooh, I'm Tony Stark, and I can totally do whatever I want to because I have money and a tower and an AI system and a girlfriend-'" I said in a high-pitched voice.

"I don't sound like that at all," Stark pressed a little button on the steering wheel, and the garage door opened to show... a concrete tunnel.

"Oh come on," I whined. "It's like the Labyrinth in here, minus David Bowie."

"Do you ever stop complaining?"

"Not if I can help it. If I don't dump negative criticism on everything around me, it builds up in my system and I get real bad heartburn."

"Why did I even hire you in the first place? You know what, I'm docking your paycheck. You'll be restricted from all the fun floors in the tower. And..."

I'm pretty sure that Stark kept on talking after that, and I'm also pretty sure that I could have a dozen sarcastic barbs at the ready if I was still paying attention to the billionaire. But right at that moment, we came out from the tunnel and into the bustling streets of New York.

I immediately ignored Stark's voice and pressed my face up close to the window. It was a bright day, with patches of white clouds perfectly adorning the blue sky. People walked on the sidewalks, anxious to get to wherever they were going. Hot dog stands leaned misshapen-like in the more used alley ways. Cars honked, taxis nearly killed themselves darting between lanes, and electronic signs flashed neon lights and gigantic images.

The window suddenly moved, making me jump back in surprise. I looked to my left and saw Stark holding another button down on the dashboard. When he saw me staring, he shrugged.

"Your eyes are about to pop. Just go ahead, stick your head out of the window and embrace your inner-"

"I'm a 'gifted individual', not a Golden Retriever," I grumbled under my breath, but leaned forwards anyways. 

It was windy too today, and I angled my face so that the breeze buffeted my skin. Closing my eyes, I felt a tiny grin come over my face. It'd been three weeks since I had last been under the real sky, not looking at it from behind a window. It'd been three weeks since I had felt the real wind.

"You sure you're not a dog?" Stark chuckled.

I blinked and opened my eyes, discovering that I had, in fact, stuck my head out of the window. Feeling a twinge of heat rise in my cheeks, I sank back in my seat and muttered a reply.

"What?" Stark asked, negotiating his way around a slow SUV and speeding through a dangerously long yellow light.

I cleared my throat and turned to Stark with a sweet smile. "I said, if you think I'm a dog then I'd hate to wonder what it's like being so low on the evolutionary chain."

"You're such a bratty teenager, you know," Stark actually laughed at that.

I grinned and replied with an _extremely_ censor worthy retort.

"Whoa, you kiss your mom with that mouth?" Stark raised his eyebrows.

I faltered.

It didn't show on my face; no, I learned the hard way to keep my emotions in check. But a dull ache picked up in my chest, seeping through my lungs like the numbness from ice cold water...

_A crack pierced my brain, cutting across all other noises, like every bone in my body broke at the same moment. Then darkness. Then light. Then somebody was screaming. Somebody was in pain, like they were being pulled apart by the seams and being cast particle by particle into the wind-_

"-there? Gale? Gale!"

Stark's voice jolted me out of my mind. I blinked and noticed that we were parked in front of a tall white building, but I didn't even remember the car stopping. Stark himself was turned in his seat, staring at me. I stared back.

"You good, kid?" Stark asked, a bit of something akin to worry in his voice.

I opened my mouth to speak, only to find that my mouth was dry. Clearing my throat, I finally spoke. "I told you not to call me kid."

"Sure." Stark looked at me oddly, but got out of the car anyway. I opened my door and used one of those newfound healthy breezes to wrangle the wheelchair out of the back. I reached out and used my hands to unfold it, and before Stark could 'help' or rather 'dump' me in the chair, I quickly spun myself around into the seat.

"Ugh, can't I just walk in there?" I groaned as I manually wheeled myself into the lobby, Stark following on my right.

"No, because you still have your cast on."

The receptionist saw the one and only Tony Stark approach, and I watched him quickly notify the assumed doctor on his phone as we neared him.

"Couldn't Dr. Banner just do this?" I said as Stark signed some paper or something on the receptionist's desk, and the poor shocked man pointed to a door on my left.

"He doesn't know how to do that stuff, and besides, he barely leaves the lab. I swear they're married."

We walked (and rolled) into a small examination room, where a woman with auburn hair in an elegant bun was writing something down on a clipboard.

"Ah, hello Mr. Stark," she smiled and shook his hand. "And... Gale." She frowned at her clipboard. "I don't have a last name or any existing medical records-"

"It's fine," Stark interrupted her. "She's a Stark employee, official business and whatnot. Nothing but a name required."

"Alright, then," the doctor smiled again, a bit hesitant this time. "I'll just make sure that all the tools are ready and then we'll be set." She left the room, closing the door behind her. When I was sure that she was out of earshot, I looked at Stark.

"What was that all about?" I asked him.

"What?" Stark frowned.

"The whole 'Stark employee, official business' thing."

"Yeah, what about it?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "Why did you even hire me in the first place?"

"Well," Stark sat down in one of those tiny hospital chairs that was pushed against the wall. "I like the get under SHIELD's skin every now and then. Besides, you're just a kid- I mean, young adult," he hastily amended once he saw my expression.

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes. "But why do that when we hadn't even met before? We're still complete strangers."

"Are you complaining?"

"Just answer the question before I do something I won't regret."

"Fine, fine, jeez. Loosen up a little," Stark pulled out his phone. "Oh, would ya look at that, Pepper's calling me." With that, he walked out of the room, presumably to have a conversation with his potentially terrifying girlfriend. An awfully convenient conversation, to note the obvious.

I just sat there in the wheelchair, drumming my fingers on my leg. Now that I was mere minutes from getting out of it permanently, it felt like every second was a century. My muscles burned with anticipation.

Then the doctor walked back in, with a rolling cart with tools on it. Stark was still outside, and when the doctor looked out the door at him, the billionaire just waved a hand at us and kept on talking on his phone.

"Well, then," the doctor smiled at me reassuringly. "My names is Dr. Pennings. This will only take a couple of minutes, so don't worry."

"Sure," I smiled back blandly. 

Dr. Pennings had me prop my right leg up on a chair, and then picked up what looked a lot like a saw.

"Whoa, this isn't Chainsaw Massacre the Sequel, right?" I said, eyeing it warily.

"No, this just cuts through the hard shell part of the cast, sweetie. You'll be fine."

I almost used a wind to mess up her hair just for calling me sweetie, but then I remembered that in a room with closed doors and the AC not on, wind might be a tad bit suspicious.

Dr. Pennings activated the saw and it sprung to life, the blade whirring back and forth and making an extremely loud sound, disproportionate for its size. I'll admit, I shied away at first, but told myself that I'd rather lose some skin than have the cast on for another week.

When the saw touched the cast on my right calf, a tiny spray of dust and particles kicked up. I coughed and turned my face away as I felt the vibrations of the saw getting closer and closer to my skin. Then Dr. Pennings turned the saw off and grabbed a pair of pliers, which she used to widen the cut in the cast and pry it off of my leg.

"Now it's just the inner layer, Gale. You're doing great," Dr. Pennings told me. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Next, the doctor used a pair of sharp scissors to cut the soft remnants of the cast away. I gave a little sigh as the fresh air hit my warm skin, instantly feeling better.

"And... just to make sure that everything's alright," Dr. Pennings took a small penlight from the rolling cart. "I need you to keep your eyes open and your head still, okay?"

I didn't have any time to respond before the light went straight into my eyes, effectively blinding me. I blinked and before I could swat the doctor's hand away, she moved the light. 

"Why'd ya do that?" I rubbed my watering eyes with the heels of my palms.

"It's a routine check, just to see if there's anything else that was damaged, like your eyes or other sensitive organs," Dr. Pennings replied smoothly. "Next," she picked up a clipboard. "Any nausea? Dizziness? Unusual fatigue or lack of appetite?"

"Um, no, no, no, and no." I scratched at my now cast-less leg.

"Any history of heart problems or cancer in the family?"

"Uh..." I stammered, trying to search back in my memory without bringing up certain things that I wanted to... avoid. "I don't think so." Lie.

"Any other genetic conditions?"

"No." Lie.

"Well, that's it." Dr. Pennings set the clipboard down. "Ready to go face the world?"

"Definitely."

Lie.

But I slowly put my weight on my left foot, and then brought myself upright out of the wheelchair. Ignoring the doctor's attempts to help me, I gingerly put weight on my bare right foot, and when the only semblance of pain that I felt was pins and needles from the sudden blood flow, I grinned.

"Hello, sweet ground. It's been a while," I chuckled to myself.

Just then, Stark poked his head in the door. "We done yet? Pepper's got a press meeting in half an hour and I supposed to show up and give a speech about how great she is or something."

"Look out world, 'cause here I come," I said aloud as I took a couple of wobbly steps towards the door.

"Great, now she's mobile," Stark rolled his eyes. 

"You know what-"

"So that's it," Dr. Pennings cut across me. "Now, for the expenses-"

"Just bill me," Stark said dismissively and gestured for me to hurry up. I sighed and softly stepped out into the hallway, my ribs twinging a bit as I gently stretched my arms.

"You're taller than I thought," Stark commented as we got into the lobby, the receptionist staring at the billionaire as we passed.

"Yeah, well, that's probably because I've been in a wheelchair ever since-"

A clicking sound and the sudden presence of something large and cool on each wrist distracted me. Looking down, I saw two seamless metal cuffs on my forearms, and Stark stepped away from me.

"You..." I trailed off, looking at the man with barely concealed anger.

"Fury's orders," Stark said, apologetically. "Now that you're not in the wheelchair, there's more of a risk that you might get out..." He had the audacity to act like he didn't have a choice.

"I can't believe this," my voice quivered, taught as a bowstring. "You know I could've- I don't even- why does this- argh!"

I slammed my hands into the double doors that lead outside, and strode angrily into the bright sunlight. Stark followed me, I heard his footsteps- but I wasn't heading towards his customized, leather interior sports car.

"You know, this is exactly why I chose to live alone," I said loudly, walking purposefully towards a small alley right next next to us. Away from prying eyes, away from security cameras, away from everybody else. "Because no matter who you are, or who you were, or what you _didn't_ do, people always manage to not trust you. No matter what you _aren't_ , people will assume you are."

"Where are you going?" Stark asked, but I could hear the edge in his voice.

"Why'd you do it?" I whirled around, glaring at him. We both stood in the alley, neither of us moving anymore. "Huh? Why'd you put the cuffs on?"

"Because-"

"If you dare say it was because Fury said so I will gut you," I shook a finger at him. The familiar coldness was seeping up my neck and into my eyes, and silver tainted the edges of my vision. "We both know that you're Tony flippin' Stark, the Iron Man, and you don't just 'take orders'. You got me out of SHIELD's grip just to make them squirm, so why'd you put on the cuffs?"

"Because you're volatile," Stark finally answered. I stared at him, a bit taken aback.

"Yeah, don't look too surprised, Gale," he continued. "You have enough energy to tour New York every other day, high above the Empire State Building. You can fly, for heaven's sake. You even managed to choke Barton without batting an eyelash, and if you got really mad-"

"You don't another 'Hulk situation' on your hands," I sneered. When Stark seemed confused, I laughed, sharp and cold, just like the north winds that I was so fond of. "Don't look too surprised, _Tony_ ," I flung his words back at him. "Yeah, Romanoff needs to learn how to have more private phone conversations. If I were her, I'd make sure that the person she was diagnosing with these 'mental disorders' wasn't _right down the hall!_ "

"Gale, you need to calm down," Stark warned me. 

"Calm down? _Calm down?!_ " I shouted. "You want me to calm down?! I don't do calm! Apparently I'm too _volatile_ to do that!"

Discarded flyers and bits of trash began to skitter across the ground, picking up speed. The whistle of a breeze rang out around me. I saw Stark slip his hand into his pocket- probably ready to activate the cuffs, which would 'pump me full of enough drugs to drop a water buffalo', according to Romanoff.

"You want to see volatile?" My bones hummed as the wind gathered strength. I saw it, shimmering, winding through the air around me, a shade that couldn't be called a color but something that was just out of reach, just on the tip of my tongue.

_Fly with me_ , an east wind whispered in my ear. _I can set you free_ , the south breeze hissed. _Leave this world behind_ , a west draft breathed, circling behind me. _We will never be afraid again,_ the hint of a north tempest promised.

"I'll show you _volatile_ ," I hissed aloud, my voice merging with the winds.

Quick as a flash, I turned my forearms so that the undersides faced up towards the sky, bared to the world in front of me. Clenching my fists, my vision snapped into shades of silver and grey as the cuffs on my arms shattered, pieces flying into the brick walls on either side of the alley. 

My feet skimmed the ground, then slowly rose up off of it. My dark hair whipped free of its ponytail and floated behind me, ethereal-like as if I were underwater. Power thrummed in my blood, my breath, my bones. Spirals of wind swirled around my body, fevered and wild.

Stark had backed up several paces, furiously typing something into his phone. "JARVIS! Yeah, it's bad!"

"You have no idea," I growled. Arms still in front of me, I twisted my fingers in the threads of the winds, and yanked upwards.

Bricks fell out of the walls all around me, some of them breaking apart in midair, others simply dissolving into the wind. A solitary dumpster rattled and then crashed back and forth between the walls. I floated several feet above the ground, the only singularity amidst the chaos.

Even though my vision was tainted grey and sterling, I noticed my skin writhing and changing color. Swirling marks, seemingly composed of pure silver, wove themselves into my pale flesh, glowing and pulsing in time with my ever steady heartbeat. Curls of moonlight wrapped around fingers like intricate tattoos, and I felt the icy touch of the markings on my face, accentuating my cheekbones and defining every already-delicate feature. I knew my eyes were, by now, completely molten silver.

And on the palm of each hand, a different mark knit itself into my skin, harsher and discordant next to the eddies and flows of the silver everywhere else. It was shaped like an 'H', with the middle line tilted down to the right. I had only seen it twice before, but I knew its name like it was my own: _hagalaz_.

Torrents of wind now ripped through the alley, cascading up and down the walls and whipping my already torn clothes close to my body. Oh, I knew that somebody was bound to notice. I knew that somebody was going to capture this all on film, and then everybody on New York City and then the world would know about the freak who could control the wind.

I just didn't care.

I laughed, high and cold, like a peal of sleet in a thunderstorm. I was wind-drunk, giddy with power, filled with joy as I wrapped a primal force of nature around myself.

Volatile! They called me volatile! As if they had a clue as to what I was. As if they knew me, if they cared, if they even tried to figure out why I was here and how I was like this and who I'd turn out to be.

I didn't expect anyone to understand. I didn't expect anyone to care. I didn't expect anything on this world to make a difference or to actually matter something to me.

And I _really_ didn't expect a metal frisbee to crash into my chest with enough force to flip a bulldozer.

I flew backwards and hit the ground, skidding on the rough asphalt. Groaning, I faltered, trying to catch my mind up to what was happening. Raising a fist, I warped the winds and created a flat shield of sorts in front of me, just in time to block a burst of light.

But it still pushed me back even farther, and I felt my grip on the winds loosening as my ribs cried out in protest as I moved. What in the nine realms was-

"I'm really sorry about that, ma'am, but you're going to need to calm down," a level voice cut through the blood rush in my head.

"Yeah, I'm sticking with Gramps over there. Wouldn't want anyone else to get hurt," another, more confident voice added.

I blinked, trying to look through the silver haze that clouded my voice. I could vaguely see the figures of two people: one sort of blueish and brown, the other dark but with a splash of red.

"No," I gasped as I forced myself onto my feet, chest aching. "I won't... you can't..." I feebly grabbed a south wind and thrust it at the closest figure, the blueish one. It winced but didn't move. Instead, it picked up something round and metal from the ground, and held it at its side.

"Now, Gale, we really don't want to, say, actually injure you. We just want to take you in-" The confident voice drawled.

"No!" I managed to shout, the flickering marks on my arms slowly coming back to life.

I couldn't let these people take me in, whoever they were. I just couldn't. If they took me in it meant questions and dark rooms and doctors and needles and pain and fear and hunger and cold _and I promised Dyadya Alexei I would never be taken anywhere without my consent._

The wind in the alley picked up. A solitary dumpster rattled against the wall, increasing in ferocity every passing second.

"Gale, you have to calm down," the calm voice said, more urgently.

_I promised Dyadya Alexei that I wouldn't try to hurt anyone. But I promised myself that I would stay alive and away from the questions and dark rooms and the fear._

With a yell, I thrust my hands out in front of me, channeling every scrap of willpower I had left into my palms. The markings there glittered icily as the wind exploded forwards knocking both figures onto the ground.

" _I will not let you hurt me!_ " I screamed, my throat turning raw with the force. I sank to my knees, unable to hold myself upright any longer. The winds began to lose their power and fade from the alley as the toll of using them began to effect me. I was tired now, so very tired, and sore and in pain and _scared_.

"And I won't let you hurt anyone else," the calm voice said. And before I could even try to stop it, the blueish figure raised the round piece of metal- a shield, I noticed as my vision began to clear from the silver haze- and brought it down on the back of my head, which was perfectly exposed.

I dropped to the ground instantly, hair pooling around my face like water in the night, or the shade of dark blood. Both were indistinguishable from the other. I knew that all too well.

_A crack... resonating in my head... the ground disappearing from under my feet... then darkness... then light... and then a familiar face with my almost-black eyes but with hair the color of the wind..._

_"I'm sorry, Dyadya Alexei."_


	7. Already there

I awoke to silence.

Now, usually that's nice. For other, normal people. But I've spent my entire life either in noisy cities or on the outskirts of groups of people. I'm used to falling asleep with chatter in the background, I can wake up with a bang from a faulty engine and still not bat an eyelash as I get ready for the day. I do this because noise is better than no noise, and if you hear something rather than nothing you can know where you are and who you're with. I _always_ choose noise. But waking up to silence? That meant only two things: either I was dead (which was very unlikely) or I was in a controlled environment in which I did not choose.

The silence alone was enough to make me gather my wits before I did anything else. I kept my eyes closed, and instead, listened to see if there was even the faintest of sounds. There was none. Okay, strike one. Next, I tried to discreetly sniff without changing my breathing pattern. And yes, sniff. Sometimes you can know exactly where you are depending on the smell: fish equals docks, perfume equals some high-end store, smoke equals fire and get out of there like you're being chased by a murderer (which, if you subtly regain consciousness and don't know where you are, is probably true). But there was no smell- not even the sanitizer and antiseptic odor of hospitals. Strike two.

Finally, I reached out with my mind and tried to find a wind- any wind, even a breeze. And there was none. The air was unnervingly still. And that meant wherever I was, somebody didn't want me getting anywhere. Strike three, batter out.

So I gave up the sleeping charade, and slowly opened my eyes. I only saw an expanse of white above me. Maybe I was actually dead. But then my eyes focused, and I was able to pick out lines where the pieces of white fit together. It was a ceiling.

Groaning, I raised my hands up to my face and rubbed my eyes, and I blinked to get the dried goop out of my eyes. Yes, I know. I'm the perfect imitation of Sleeping Beauty with eye crust and a sarcastic disorder. Anyways, I turned my head to my left, and got a better look at where I was.

I was in a circular room with clear glass walls, and the floor and ceiling were just a bland white metal. Looking down, I saw that I was lying on some sort of a cot (it was really more like a slab of white metal with a thin layer of padding over it). And it seemed to be the only other thing in this weird room besides me.

Beyond the glass walls, I could see that there was a second room, all around the glass one. There was a small metal platform on the opposite side of where I was, with two control panels of sorts. Thick metal braces were positioned around the top and bottom of the glass room, holding it in place.

It was a cage.

My blood ran cold as that understanding raced through my mind. I swung my legs over the side of the cot, trying to catch my brain up to everything. If I was in a cage, that meant someone wanted to contain me, and that meant it was because of my powers, and that meant-

_Fear pain cold hunger hurt hurt hurthurthurthurt-_

"You're awake. Finally." A new voice interrupted my memories. I looked up, and saw a man standing covered in the shadows, off to the side of the outer room.

"Where am I?" I demanded, determined to not let the boiling mash of anger-fear-lost take over me.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but you're exactly in the position to be asking questions," the man, replied.

"I could send half of you to the Atlantic and the other part to the Grand Canyon without blinking-" I threatened.

"Except you can't," the man said. He stepped forward, into the light, revealing himself. He was tall, I'll give him that. Dark skinned, dressed all in black with an ankle-length coat, and an eyepatch out of all things.

"Reinforced glass, bracers that could make a freight train freeze in place, controlled ventilation systems, and absolutely no chance of getting out." He strode up to the platform, gesturing to the control panels. "One of these buttons sucks the air out of there within a minute. One of them activates a strong electric current that could knock an elephant down. Another button drops this cage thousands of feet down into the ocean, where it will sink to the bottom and never come back up. And there's a whole 'nother row of buttons that I don't even know about. So trust me, Miss Gale, when I say that you can't do anything in here without consequences."

I slowly stood up, pins and needles tingling up and down my legs, and walked deliberately up to the glass, right in front of the man. He was at least half a foot taller than me, but size didn't matter. Size never did, when it came to someone like me.

"You must be Fury," I tilted my head. "Funny. With the eyepatch, I figured Captain Hook would be more appropriate."

"Joke around all you want, Miss Gale, but you've got a snowball's chance of getting out of here unharmed," Fury said coolly, hands clasped behind his back.

"Why does SHIELD pry into everybody's business?" I asked him. "Why is it that every time a powered person shows up, you just have to jump on them. You put a number on them, and file them away as a target. Why is it that people like me can never be free from people like you?"

Fury's eye bored into my dark ones. "So you're saying that we should just let you go?"

I scoffed. "What does it sound like?"

"Even after that stunt you pulled in the alley?"

Now that got me off guard. "Stunt?" I frowned. "What stunt?"

Fury observed me, like an eagle watching a mouse. "Why else do you think you're in here?"

"Uh, were you listening about the whole 'jumping on powered people' part?" 

"You'll be glad to know that no one died," Fury finally spoke, and turned around. He headed towards a single door and called over his shoulder, "And if you know what's best for you, you'll work with my people on controlling that temper of yours."

I watched as he vanished through the door, it closing with an ominous _thud_ behind him. What did he mean by temper? And what 'stunt' did I pull? If this was because I filled the air vents with hot wind for Barton, then I needed to have a serious talk with both men.

I turned around and sat back down on the cot, massaging my temples between my fingers. My hair kept falling into my face, which was weird, because I usually had it back in a ponytail. And something else was off too, something about my legs kept bothering me, though I couldn't put my finger on it.

Sighing, I started working through my hair with my fingers, trying to get some of the knots out. Gods, since when did I let my hair get this tangled? Even when I went flying, I wrangled the dark mass into a braid of sorts to stop this kind of things from happening. Then I tugged at the hair on the back of my head, and a sharp bolt of pain erupted in my skull.

Gasping, I took my hands back, and then carefully touched the aching area with two fingers. Through the pain and the clumps of hair, I could feel a large bump on my head.

"When did that happen?" I muttered to myself.

Wait... what happened before I woke up here?

I frowned, trying to search back in my memory. It was hazy, to say the least. I remember being at Stark Tower, of course. I remember talking with Romanoff, and then being in the lab with Dr. Banner and Agent Jerk-wad. Then I was playing cards, and then Stark came in...

I got my cast off! I grinned as I realized what I had been noticing about my legs. But my joy quickly faded to disappointment when I couldn't recall anything even remotely useful. I knew that Dr. Pennings was the one to cut the cast open with this saw thingy, and then Stark was there and we were talking on the way back to his car... I was upset about something that he said... I walked into an alley-

Fury said I 'pulled a stunt' in the alley. But everything past that point was just... gone. A big blank in my mind.

"Hey!" I yelled out loud to the empty room, hoping that somebody could at least hear me through the walls or something. "I don't even know what I did! I'm pretty sure this is unconstitutional! Or illegal, at least! Hello! Anybody!"

My voice echoed around, but there was no sign of a response. Dejected, I leaned back against the glass wall behind me, legs dangling off the edge of the cot.

"This is what I get for minding my own business," I grumbled. "Other people mind mine."

I sat there for an hour. Sixty minutes. Three thousand six hundred seconds. What I wouldn't give for a tennis ball to pass the next hour with. Instead, I had to make do with planning.

Don't get me wrong, planning is a great thing to do if you need to kill some time, or if, you know, you need to get out of a practically impenetrable glass cage inside an equally as impenetrable metal room inside the secret base of a secret organization that's intent on keeping you in the aforementioned glass cage.

The biggest hindrance was that there was no wind. Of course, why would it be that easy in the first place? No wind meant my chances of getting out of here just got cut in half, and then half again. So that meant I was running on my wits alone.

There were probably armed guards outside of the room, with guns and riot shields and batons and whatnot. Agents Jerk-wad and Mommy were most likely somewhere in the near vicinity as well. Which meant that the door was not my best option. And, because I couldn't see any large air vents or maintenance paths, the door was also my _only_ option. And this was given that I already made it out of this glass prison cell, which had nothing inside of it except the cot that was bolted to two of the four support columns. There wasn't even a clearly marked door to get out of this thing.

I was screwed. Royally and utterly screwed.

Another hour passed as I tried to figure out how to get somebody to open the cage so I could sneak out. Two more ticked by as I gave up that idea and thought about playing dead or something. I was on my fourth hour since waking up here when the metal door opened.

I was currently hanging upside-down from the cot, out of sheer boredom and frustration. The blood rush at least gave me something else to think about besides my impending doom. But when the door opened all of a sudden, I was shocked enough that I tried to stand up, forgot that I was upside-down, and subsequently fell on my head.

"Ah!" I cried as the lump on the back of my skull throbbed from the impact.

"I'm sorry about that," the person said calmly.

Wincing, I pushed myself upright, sitting back against the cot. "Oh, it's you," I grumbled, noticing the figure of Captain America.

"Is your head alright?" Rogers asked me, standing in front of the glass with his arms crossed.

"Why do you care?" I rubbed the tender area on my skull, glaring at the man. "It's not like you're to blame."

Rogers tilted his head, confused. "But... don't you remember?"

"Remember what?" I said. Then I paused and tilted my head. "Oh, the irony of that statement."

Rogers pulled up a folding chair that I hadn't noticed in the room before, and sat down on it. He looked at me curiously, but not harshly. I realized that he was in normal street clothes, no shield, no suit.

"Oh," I groaned. "Please don't tell me you're gonna do the whole 'I'm on your level' speech." I straightened myself up, staring back at Rogers. "Listen up, sweetheart, you don't know me, SHIELD doesn't know me, the world doesn't know me, and I'm not about to make any exceptions."

"Being difficult only makes it harder for you," Rogers commented.

"Darling, don't underestimate me. I can be the most difficult person you've ever met," I laughed dryly.

Rogers gave me a look. I held up my hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Sheesh, what a party pooper."

"Are you hungry?" Rogers asked me, as if I wasn't sitting in a cell and we were just chatting at some cafe.

I deadpanned. "No, I've just gone without food for four plus however many hours I was unconscious. Speaking of which, how did this all happen? Did Agent Jerk-wad knock me out?"

"Do you remember anything at all?" Rogers prompted.

"Um, A B C D E F G, H I J K L M N O-" I started singing.

"Anything recent."

I rolled my eyes. "Last thing I remember clearly is an alley way. After that- zip, zero, big fat nada."

"You attacked Stark," Rogers said, face devoid of any expression.

"I- wait- what?" I spluttered.

"You got angry, lost control, and then Stark alerted me. Fury thought something like that would happen, so he had Stark take you to a hospital near my apartment in case things went south. Lucky for Stark, I was there in time."

I stared at the blonde man, confused. "But then- I don't even-"

"Remember?" Rogers finished. "Apparently so. I managed to knock you out before anyone else got hurt."

My fingers grazed the lump on the back of my head. "Lost control..." I repeated, dazed.

"We're trying to help you, Gale, but we can only do that if you cooperate-" Rogers assured me.

"Cooperate?" I raised my voice. "First SHIELD electrocutes me, then threatens to sedate me, then I finally wiggle out of your grip and into Stark Towers only to find that you're there too! Then, once I finally get out of that cursed wheelchair, Fury orders Stark to put on the stupid cuffs! I have only ever tried to be by myself, out of the world's way, and you expect me to cooperate now?"

"Gale-"

"I'm sick and tired of having people tell me what to do! I won't act like some mindless animal for you to round up and tag!" My vision was burning silver now.

"Gale-"

" _I will not let you hurt me!_ " I didn't even realize that I had moved over to the glass wall until I slammed my fist on it. Rogers was just watching me, expression unreadable.

"You need to calm down, Gale," Rogers told me.

"Calm down?! Calm-" I broke off, taking in a deep, shuddering breath that I didn't know I needed. Resting my arms in front of me on the glass wall, I bowed my head and forced myself to control my temper.

"We can help you Gale, but only if you let us," Rogers finally spoke.

I heard him stand up, put the folding chair back up against the wall, and exit the room. After the door closed, silence fell like a blanket of snow- clean, deafening, and inescapable.

I stood still like that, leaning forward on the wall of the cage, for God knows how long. It took me a while to wrap my head around what Fury and Rogers told me- I didn't want to believe it at first.

It had been so long since I had lost control; I thought I had gotten past all of that. But there must have been other Триггеры- other triggers. I knew that it wasn't just the cuffs that made me lose my temper- they just nudged it over the edge.

First there was Stark and Barton bringing up my parents... then taking with Romanoff and mentioning the killer's code of trust, something I didn't exactly like to elaborate upon... then the cuffs... and then Stark's comments about me being volatile.

A vicious streak of anger awoke in me, curling in my gut. Don't these people know that calling someone volatile doesn't help? Don't they know that I know I'm volatile?

They didn't even know that I knew just how dangerous I was.

I turned away from the wall for a moment, and then whirled back around. With a fierce cry, I punched the glass as hard as I could, releasing all of my anger with that motion.

To my satisfaction, the glass cracked. Just a tiny crack, nothing more than a smear, but it still stood testimony to how powerful I was, even when I didn't try to be.

I walked slowly back to the cot and sat back down. The knuckles on my right hand had split open, and scarlet blood was leaking from my skin. Holding my hand up, I rotated it around and watched the blood trickle between my fingers and into my palm.

I watched the red trace the lines in my palm, revealing the _hagalaz_.

"If you think I'm dirty, first wash your own hands clean," I began to quietly sing under my breath, staring at the _hagalaz_. "Don't call me bad if you don't know just how wicked I can be."

The room was almost as noiseless as the grave, save for a regular _thud_ from the mechanics in the ceiling every other beat. The silence in the cage would've muffled any other voice, but not mine. My song cut through the air like the wind that I had cast my lot with.

_Thud._

"And if you try to chain me, and clip my wings so I can't fly... Well I know that in Death there are worse things to do than die."

_Thud_.

"So if you think you know me and you tell me that you care... if you say you'll save me from the darkness..."

_Thud._

"Darling, I'm already there."

Author’s Note (edit): So I’ve been getting a ton of questions about the song in the end of this chapter, and instead of replying to every individual message or comment, I’m just gonna clear things up here. 

The song is completely original. I wrote it specifically for this story, so you might have some trouble finding it on YouTube. I’m rather proud of it, so please don’t copy or plagiarize it. I’ve worked hard on this story to make it so people like you guys get the best out of it, and I don’t want to be reluctant to add some really cool bits. 

All in all, I hope you enjoy the story 😊.


	8. Proverbs, curses, and an abundance of potatoes

Potatoes.

Every. Single. Freaking. Day.

Potatoes.

Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew- they're still potatoes. And no matter how creative you get with them, they still will be potatoes. 

Po- Ta- Toes.

Taters.

Even the word tasted like the colorless sludge that sat on my plastic tray. For some reason, I also said 'potatoes' with a really bad American accent. Po...ta...toes. Sue me. Well, only if you can find my secret stash of money that I hid in an undisclosed location in the city. Then you can sue me- wait, I'm not technically registered in the United States, so... yeah, you can try to sue me, but it won't work out.

Poh-tay-toos.

I was also pretty sure that po-ta-toes weren't supposed to be in the form of colorless sludge. Unless these people were trying to poison me. In which case, they obviously weren't trying very hard. I wouldn't even feed this to the stray dog that hung around the deli near my dumpster.

Grimacing, I swiveled the tray around on my lap so that the offending po-ta-toes were on the opposite side from me. Ignoring the plastic fork that was about as sturdy as a drinking straw, I used my fingers and tore off a section of a bread roll. Stuffing it in my mouth, I tried to swallow before I registered the taste. To no avail, may I add. I ended up washing down the rest of the stale roll with the tiny cup of water I was given along with my meal.

Sighing, I stared down at the tray, already feeling a bit a tired. It's funny how doing nothing really sapped your energy. I wasn't even feeling that hungry, which I guess, wasn't too out of the norm. When you live in a dumpster, you get used to 'dieting', or as I like to call it, 'tightening your belt a notch and ignoring your stomach'. It was pretty efficient, and over the past several months in New York, I had gotten used to not eating three heaping meals a day.

"Would it kill you guys to get some rye bread in here? Seriously, I know I'm a prisoner slash convict slash juvenile delinquent, but you could at least step up your kitchen staff." I complained loudly to the camera located just outside of the glass walls, watching me eat, sleep, blink, and everything in between.

"Or at least some soup. Love me some soup," I muttered under my breath. Good lord, I mean, the least they could do was acknowledge my state as a _human_ , and not some mindless drone they could feed the same meals to day after day after day.

A twinge of anger rose in my chest, but dissipated quickly. I learned soon after waking up in this shiny cage that anger would get me nothing but more potatoes. Poh...tai... tohees...

I groaned loudly and flopped back on my cot, the tray bouncing in my lap but not falling. Staring up at the white ceiling, I thought about how lovely it would be to walk out of this cage, through the halls of the Helicarrier, and flip Fury off whilst destroying every piece of technology designed to hunt people like me down.

The metal door to the outside room opened with a clear clank against the wall. I didn't even look at the random agent who came in and stopped at the front of this cage.

"Please, place the tray at the front of the cell and stand back." The bored agent said.

"For the love of-" I broke myself off. "Please, learn to show something that humans call emotion," I mimicked the agent.

"Once more, please place the tray-" The agent began to repeat himself.

"I heard you the first time!" I interrupted him, and sat myself upright, the tray still in my lap. "You know, if you turned the air conditioning on I'd be able to just whisk the tray over there magically. You know, using my oh-so- _volatile_ powers that got me locked up here in the first place."

The agent stared at me with a no-nonsense expression.

"Fine, fine. Geez, tough crowd," I rolled my eyes and got to my feet. Carrying the tray with one hand, I set it in front of the near invisible door in the glass, and stepped back.

The agent pressed a button on one of the control panels, and the door hissed open. The barest ripple of air emanated from that movement, and for a second, I felt my mind instinctively reaching out towards it.

Then a beeping sound came from my arms, and the agent hurriedly picked up the tray and instantly shut the door with a slightly worried glance my way.

"You know that the beeps won't kill you, right?" I hollered after the agent, but he exited the room without a word.

"I will," I muttered, my voice low.

Sighing, I looked down at my hands- more specifically, my wrists, and what was on them.

The first day that I woke up in the God-forsaken place, after that Star Spangled Idiot talked to me, a bunch of agents came into this lovely cage. They had batons and little Tasers, so I figured they didn't want to play chess. Turns out it took every agent (there were about eight, I think), three misfired Tasers (into other agents' chest, much to my amusement), and one agent who apparently learned to wrestle teenage girls with powers for a living- all of that, just to get these stupid cuff on.

The two offending bands of metal and plastic were wrapped around my wrists. They were thin and black, and kinda looked like those fitness heart rate monitors. I guess they actually were heart rate monitors, seeing as that's what they did, among other things. I'm pretty sure there were little GPS's or other sorts of tracking devices in there too, just in case I got a bit restless. The little cuffs watched my heart rate and other vital signs, and made a really obnoxious beeping sound when I got too angry or emotional or vaguely excited or even sometimes when I was just scratching my nose.

So basically, if it looked like I was even going to _try_ to use my powers, they would alert everybody in the vicinity. And boy, did everyone get alert. It was like I had the Plague or something. But I have to admit, watching everybody shy away from me like I was walking talking nuclear bomb was starting to grow on me. Hey, if I ever got out of this place, I wouldn't have to worry about any surprising visits from these people.

I walked aimlessly around the cage, counting the number of lines in the floor (thirty three), the minutes until my next 'meeting' with Fury (which, by my estimate, should be around ten minutes from now, like they were every day after 'dinner'), and thinking about just where I would go in the world when I got out of here.

See, Fury had stopped by my beautiful, rent-free, no-contract-needed room each day for the past week, and tried to talk to me. Mostly using his interrogation voice, which was actually kinda appropriate, seeing as he was asking me about where I came from, my last name, if I had ever done any acts of terrorism- you know, all of that good stuff that people tend to ask in an actual interrogation. Most of the time, I made faces, did weird things, and ignored Fury. I was trying to see how fast I could get rid of him. Yesterday he gave up after about half an hour of me making progressively louder fart noises.

I had spent a _week_ in this cage, I realized, eating meal after meal (with po-ta-toes!), and waiting for this little section in the floor to pop up three times a day to reveal a toilet and a screen around it. Because, you know, I'm good enough to have my modesty accounted for but not good enough to get a meal without potatoes. Anyway, the rest of the time I just walked around the cage and tried not to bash my brains out before the lights in the room shut off and it was time to go to sleep.

"Five hundred bottles of vodka on the wall," I started singing out of sheer boredom, not even bothering to be on key or in tune. I didn't really care who was listening to my road trip favorites- it was just something to do.

When I got to three hundred and seventy-nine bottles of vodka on the wall, the door of the room opened again. I paused, not facing that direction, and listened to a set of footsteps walk up to the front of my cage.

"Fury, man, I don't know if you lost your watch along with your eyeball, but you were supposed to be here fifty-eight bottle of vodka ago," I commented.

"I'll be sure to tell him that once we're finished," a different voice came from outside the cage.

Frowning, I turned around, only to find the smug face of Agent Barton staring back at me.

"Why the heck are you here?" I said, baffled.

"Oh, believe me, I volunteered," Barton chuckled. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to open the door."

I raised an eyebrow. "And why would I mind?"

"Because," Barton gestured to his back, where a quiver was resting. "I got a fresh batch of electric arrows, and I haven't had any target practice today. So I'd actually prefer it if you try to escape."

"I'm a 'gifted individual', not a pincushion," I glared at the man.

"Eh. I shot you once. That makes you a target," Barton shrugged indifferently, and opened the cage door.

I took a cautious step towards the opening in the cage, wondering if this was all a trick or something. So far I hadn't told them anything about myself- well, anything that they didn't already know. But like Barton said- they had electric arrows and obviously no qualms about keeping me here until I died of old age. Who knows what SHIELD would resort to to get what they want.

"You know, if you really don't wanna go, I can just leave you in there," Barton suggested, hand hovering over the button that would close the door.

I quickly hopped over the edge of the cage door and onto the metal platform. Scowling up at Barton, I crossed my arms. "Now what?"

"Now you follow me," he said simply, and turned around towards the other door that led out of the room. Opening it and walking outside, he vanished without a backwards glance.

Yeah, now I was _really_ getting warning bells in my head.

But regardless, I could feel the air moving outside of the open door- not real wind, per say, but an air current. And besides, curiosity tended to get the better of me.

So I hesitantly padded outside and into the bland hallway, where, to my surprise, only Barton was standing. No other agents, no Tasers- well, electric arrows might count- and no guns. Barton wasn't even wearing any armor- just a standard SHIELD uniform and his quiver. 

"Where's your bow, Legolas?" I asked him.

"Oh, so I've been upgraded from 'Jerk Wad'?" Barton grinned.

"Irrelevant," I dismissed his comment. "What makes you so sure I won't kill you and every other person in this place?"

"Because you won't," Barton replied.

I paused for a second. "Yeah, I'm bailing," I said promptly and started walking off in the opposite direction from Barton. I expected him to stop me or even shoot me again, but even after a couple paces, nothing happened.

"I really wouldn't do that," Barton called out after me.

"Go find someone who cares," I replied loudly.

And then, just when I was about to turn down the hall and disappear from Barton's view, both of my hands were suddenly yanked behind me. I stumbled backwards, and the force pulling me back lessened a bit.

Turning around slowly, I faced Barton, who was casually leaning against the wall with an innocent expression on his face.

"You mangy, flea-ridden, slimy son of a-" I snarled.

"Hey, I warned you. Besides, you shouldn't be using that kind of language," Barton sounded like he was holding in laughter.

"What else do these do?" I hissed, holding up my wrists so that the black cuffs were clearly visible.

"A lot of things. Several of which you'll find out quickly if you try to run." Barton pulled out a slim back box, about the size of half a deck of cards. "It's something that our scientists rigged up. It depends on who's got the greater mass or whatever, and guess what, kid? You're too much of a light-weight to fight it."

"First of all," I pointed a finger at him. "Call me kid again and I'll rip out your spine. Second of all, no."

"No?" He frowned.

I sat down on the cold floor and crossed my arms. "No."

"If you're trying to be funny, it's not working. I've faced worse than you," Barton scoffed.

"That's because you don't know me," I sniffed and turned up my nose.

"Whatever, dumpster princess," Barton rolled his eyes and began walking down the hall, away from me.

Once he took a couple steps, the cuffs began to pull my arms towards him. I gritted my teeth and tried to resist, but the pull got stronger and stronger until I fell forward on my face.

"Are you seriously going to be a child about this?" I heard Barton sigh.

I refused to respond, even when he kept walking and I started to slid across the floor, hands first. I realized that even though I couldn't go willingly, I could still have my dignity about it.

So that's how I ended up being dragged limply through the Helicarrier on the floor while I looked down my nose at everybody staring as we passed by. 

We took several sharp turns through the maze of hallways, and every time I ended up getting yanked into the corner. I suspected Barton was resorting to sheer pettiness. 

Then, finally, we stopped outside of small room. Well, Barton stopped there. I was still ten feet behind, lying on the floor with all the dignity I could muster.

"Barton, it's about time," a woman walked out of the room. Agent Hill, if I was correct. "And where is-" 

"She refused to walk," Barton informed her.

"Is this the part when I yell 'FREEDOM' at the top of my lungs in a thick Scottish brogue?" I said dryly.

"Gale, would you mind coming in here for a couple of minutes?" Hill asked me politely.

"Yes."

She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Get in here, Gale."

"I'd like a cappuccino, extra cream, and maybe some cinnamon on the top in the shape of a cat."

Barton walked over to me and grabbed my wrists, and dragged me into the small room. Once I was inside, he gave the stupid box thingie that my cuffs were linked to to Agent Hill, and shut the door behind him as he exited.

"Well," I said from my position on the floor. "This has been an interesting turn of events."

"Gale, if you could just act like a mature person for at least a couple of minutes, this would go a lot quicker," Hill sighed.

"What's in it for me?" I asked her, still staring at the boring white ceiling.

"Really?" I could hear the skepticism in her voice. "You're making demands?"

"No more potatoes," I said in a bored tone. "I hate potatoes now. You've ruined all good Irish food for me. And it's a shame, because I was really looking forward to visiting Dublin."

There was silence. Then- "Fine." Hill said.

"What?" I blinked, and turned my head to look at her from where I was laying down.

"Drop the attitude and I'll make sure there's no more potatoes in your meals," Hill promised.

I stared at her for second. "Deal," I finally agreed. Standing upright, I stretched my hands over my head and leaned from side to side, making my back crack.

"Alrighty, so..." I trailed off, looking around the room. Like I said before, it was quite small, and had no windows or anything- just a plain grey room with a door and no creative input. "Is this secretly your new cage for me? Because if it is, well, I kinda like the other one better. You know, the one with actual glass and light and a bed and a color scheme."

Hill held out a bundle of clothes to me, face expressionless. "You've been in those clothes for at least a week. Two minutes to change, and then we leave."

"Wow, I feel so special," I remarked, but took the heap of fabric anyway. "We went all this way from my cage just to get some fashion advice in a recently refurbished broom closet."

"Two minutes," Hill reminded me, and walked outside and shut the door.

Well, what else was I gonna do? And two minutes wasn't exactly a long time, so I better hurry.

I quickly stripped out of the ratty shirt and torn jeans that I had stolen from a Walmart like, two years ago. Sorting through the bundle, I shook out a plain grey T-shirt that was a lovely shade similar to concrete, and a pair of loose black athletic shorts that didn't have any pockets to hide things in. Pulling those things on, I finally found a pair of shoes that was wrapped up in the mess of cotton and polyester. They were grey and built for running, which was surprising, because if they didn't want me to run they should've given me flats or heels or something. Which irked me even further, because they obviously were confident in their ability to keep me contained.

"Stupid suits," I muttered. My old tennis shoes were held together with spit and prayers, and they might just fall apart if I took one step too many. This new pair were better anyway... so I yanked on the clean pair of white socks and then the shoes.

"Time for the catwalk," I said to myself, and opened the door.

Hill was waiting outside patiently. "Finished?"

"No, I just wanted to stand in front of you wearing the clothes that I put on. Of course I'm not finished."

"Attitude," Hill reminded me.

"Whatever," I grumbled.

"This way, Gale," Hill set off briskly down another hall. I threw up my hands in exasperation and followed her. Would it kill them to get some segways in here? Or a moped system? Seriously, I'd settle for a scooter.

But at least this stop wasn't too far from the renovated closet. Only this time, it wasn't just a little room we were going into.

Hill led me into a larger space, with a simple metal table and two metal chairs in the center. There was a large mirror on the opposite wall, behind which I expected there to be Fury or some other agent. And everything in here was the same shade as- yes, you guessed it. Concrete grey!

"You said I wasn't a prisoner," I said dryly as Hill motioned for me to take a seat.

"You're under observation," she corrected me, and picked up a manila file that was lying on the table. Hill sat down across for, and looked pointedly at my chair. I sighed and sat down, the door open behind me.

"Now, Gale, we've got a few questions for you," Hill started out.

"Oh God, please don't tell me you're gonna do the whole 'interrogation routine' on me," I groaned, slumping back in my seat. "'Cause Fury already tried that, and since I haven't been arrested yet, you should've figured out that it didn't work."

"Why would we arrest you?" Hill raised an eyebrow.

"Did you not just hear me about the 'interrogation not working' thing?"

"Well, in any case," Hill opened the file and spun it around so I could read it.

It was my file. Well, what else was to be expected? But I never really realized just how little they knew about me until now.

They had a simple head-shot of me, from back when I was in a wheelchair and in the Helicarrier. Stupid cameras. There was my age- 15 years old. My basic statistics that they had gotten probably while I was unconscious or something- height and weight, a good estimate for both. But that was about all of the filled-in spots. Everything else- birthday, nationality, family, background, religious beliefs previous residences- it was all blank.

"I was hoping you could fill some of these in for me," Hill continued. I looked up at her, grabbed the pen that was lying on the table, and began to write.

Hill looked surprised that I was doing this so quickly, but then I flipped the file back around, and her face melted back into the 'extremely ticked off' expression. For I had drawn smiley faces all around the page, and signed my first name underneath my picture in cursive.

"See, when I get out outta here and become a fugitive from the world and you guys, that's gonna be worth a fortune," I gestured to my signature.

"We agreed- you cooperate and I take potatoes off the menu," Hill said tensely.

"Well, to risk a frown line encroaching on that already filled forehead," I started. "We agreed that I would act more maturely, like someone of my actual age. Not cooperation. Now, fifteen year olds are also very sarcastic, and we never agreed on how long I had to act like an adult."

Hill rubbed her temples with her fingers. "Fine, then. If you won't talk to me, then maybe you'll talk to Rogers."

I did a double take. "Rogers? As in Captain America? That Rogers?"

"Why does it matter? You scared of him?" Hill taunted.

I stared at her, trying to retain my cool. Then a giggle escaped my lips, which was followed by another one, and within seconds I was laughing my lungs out.

"Something funny?" Hill asked icily.

"You- you want-" I dissolved into another fit of chuckles. "Sorry, I- it's just- you want Steve Rogers to interrogate me? Before the Super Soldier Experiment, he was a tiny dandelion floof of concentrated righteous fury."

Hill cleared her throat and looked down at her feet. The smile dropped from my face.

"Captain Dandelion Floof is standing right behind me, isn't he?" I grimaced, already knowing the answer.

"Nice to see you again, Gale," Rogers said calmly as he moved out of the doorway behind me and into the room.

"She's all yours, Captain," Hill stood up and handed the box that controlled my cuffs to Rogers. God, it was like an extremely annoying version of Hot Potato (ugh, potatoes again), and exited the room with a single backwards glance towards me. The door swung shut after her, leaving me and Stars&Stripes alone in silence.

We stared at each other for a minute, neither of us blinking. Then I relaxed in my seat and propped my feet up on the table.

"What can I do for you in my humble abode, Captain? Get you some refreshments? Or maybe a snack. There's an abundance of potatoes right now," I said as I swept my arms out grandly.

"I just want to talk with you, Gale. And feet off the table," he nodded at my feet. I examined my nails, ignoring his request.

"So when does the interrogation start?" I asked him, thoroughly bored. "Because I'd like to now at which moments I should put on my surprised face, or my innocent face, or my 'I know what you're talking about but have elected not to share that information' face."

"I just have a couple of simple questions. That's it." Rogers still somehow looked unfazed. Hm. I might actually have to work to make him not like me.

"Right, well," I started counting on my fingers. "Chinese take out is a no, I don't like the oils and sauces they put on everything. But honey walnut shrimp from Panda Express is great. I'd recommend a fashion consultant for you, because with how the stars and stripes are on your uniform, you're Captain Puerto Rico. Also, a fantastic stress reliever is cooking. I personally go with pancakes with extra whipped cream and powdered sugar, but I burn most of that off flying and whatnot, so if you wanna lose a couple pounds I'd go with fruit smoothies."

"Not those kind of questions." Rogers cut across my rambling.

"Oh, so you _can_ interrupt people," I nodded slowly. "Okay. Gotcha. Here I was thinking that any form of rudeness removed from your DNA. But it's nice to know that you can actually do that. Makes you seem less... hero-y."

"I just need you to read a couple things out loud," Rogers continued, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

"If the first sentence on there is 'I love Justin Bieber', I'll take a raging Asgardian knight over it."

Rogers ignored me and tossed the paper over to me. I picked it up and unfolded it, flattening it out on the table. There were two columns of words written there in neat handwriting- definitely not Rogers's writing style, probably some other agent's.

"Are you kidding me?" I deadpanned as I read the first word. "Squirrel? What does this have to do with anything? Are you gonna ask me if I've been acting hyperactive lately? I don't have ADHD, if that's what you're wondering."

"Keep reading," Rogers gestured to the paper.

"Fine. Whatever," I rolled my eyes. "Height. Fruit. Queue. Chaos. Mishap. Lettuce. Comfortable. D- dr-" I stuttered, looking at the next word. Rogers leaned forward.

"Is this even a word?" I pointed to the offending scribble. "D-R-A-U-G-H-T."

"How would you pronounce it?" Rogers asked. I got a feeling that this little list of words was something else in disguise, but how could it? It was just the random parts of a dictionary lumped together.

_"Dr- 'a' and 'u', so 'ah'..._ " I thought to myself. So... "It's pronounced like 'dr..aht'? Draht?"

Rogers was silent for a moment. "And this one?" He pointed to a word further down the list. I squinted at it.

"F-A-C-A-D-E," I spelled it out first. "Fa- kade?"

He pointed to another one, and another after that, all in a seemingly random order. I gave in and just said the words how I thought they were pronounced. I mean, they were just words. And English was such a confusing language, even the native speakers couldn't get some of these words right.

"C-O-L-O-N-E-L. Coh-loh-nul. A-L-B-E-I-T. All-bite. A-W-R-Y. Ah-ree." 

And on and on it went, until I had said every word on the paper. Finally, when I had finished, I sat back in my chair.

"Do you need to go get an encyclopedia now, or can I take a nap?" I asked tiredly.

"Almost done," Rogers said. Then the door the the room opened, and Agent Romanoff walked in in full uniform, red hair bouncing.

"Where do you guys get your shampoo?" I spoke. "It's like it's magical or something. Even in the awful resolution of cellphone cameras, in the Battle of New York, your hair is amazing."

"Actually, it's just the cheap stuff," Romanoff answered coolly. "Why? You interested in buying some? We can place an order for you and bring it to your cell."

"Why are you being so... not interrogator-y?" I narrowed my eyes.

"You're fifteen years old. You can't even drive. It's called being a considerate adult," was Romanoff's reply.

"So Captain Dandelion Floof is just gonna sit there while we chit-chat?" I bobbed my head at Rogers, who so far had been silent since Romanoff came in. "Don't tell me you're the brains and he's the brawn."

"No, I'm the brawn," Romanoff smirked.

I shrugged lightly in response, and drummed my fingers on the table, feet still propped up on it. "Well... are you here to take me back to my cage- sorry, _cell-_ or are you just gonna stand there like an awkward third wheel friend?"

"Sure," Romanoff stared at me. Rogers tossed her the box-thingie for my cuffs and Romanoff snatched it out of the air without looking. I mentally applauded her. The last time I tried that, I got hit in the face with an encyclopedia.

"Lead the way, Agent, because I couldn't care less about where we're going," I leisurely stood up and followed Romanoff out into the hall.

I decided not to give in to my pettiness and make her drag me through the Helicarrier, so I instead opted to walk a few paces behind her. Just close enough for her to see me in her peripheral vision (so she wouldn't get paranoid about me running, as if I could), and just far enough away so I didn't seem like I was actually sticking close to her.

"So, you know Russian and American Sign Language," Romanoff suddenly spoke.

"Is that some sort of 'Hey, how ya doing?' that assassins use?" I frowned.

"Just stating the facts," Romanoff replied. "You also said you killed someone when you were seven- a mugger, on your way home from school."

"Leave it to a spy to remember my words," I muttered. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

"So you don't deny it?"

I snorted. "Why would I? I already told you."

"Killer's code," Romanoff echoed my words from weeks ago.

"There's the trust," I recalled our conversation.

"So you might as well know what's going to happen to you," Romanoff remarked as we took a sharp right down another hallway.

"You're willing to tell me?" I asked, a bit startled. "I thought SHIELD was more 'hold your hand close to your chest'."

"It's a common courtesy. Afterall, it's better to be slapped with truth-"

"Than kissed with a lie," I finished. Romanoff turned to me with a hint of surprise in her eyes. "I've heard the proverbs a million times," I rolled my eyes.

"Anyway," Romanoff continued. "We'll keep you here until you're ready to share some information about yourself. Then, when we've assessed your risk on becoming a serious _threat, Director Fury will determine an appropriate decision to help you live your life with minimal interference from SHIELD."_ Something was different now, about Romanoff's voice, but I couldn't put my finger on it. A slight accent, maybe.

" _Well that wasn't rehearsed at all."_ I raised an eyebrow.

" _They hand these speeches out on little note cards to every agent dealing with gifted individuals,"_ Romanoff admitted with a tiny grin.

" _I'm not a 'gifted individual,_ " I said with a frown.

" _Why not?_ "

" _Because my powers aren't a gift, they're a curse_ ," I growled. " _But no matter how much pain they cause, I won't just roll over and give up. I've still got things to do before I die. A sledgehammer breaks glass-_ "

"- _but forges steel."_ This time, Romanoff finished the proverb.

" _Hm. So you do know your sayings,_ " I said aloud, voicing my thoughts.

" _And you're Russian_ ," Romanoff said calmly.

That stopped me right in my tracks. Romanoff, who had been watching me, halted as well, gauging my reaction.

" _We've been talking in perfect, fluent, native Russian for the last several minutes_ ," she said.

"No otkuda vy uznali-" I broke myself off and forced my brain to make the switch back to English. "But how did you know?" I repeated.

"The words I had Rogers have you read," Romanoff answered. "They're the most challenging words for non-native English speakers. You made mistakes that anyone with a different mother tongue would. Put that together with the proverbs and your impeccable Russian... it wasn't too hard to put two and two together."

My jaw tightened and I glared at the woman, refusing to speak.

"So where are you from? Moscow? Saint Petersburg? The countryside?"

I lifted the edges of my lips into the beginnings of a snarl and bared my teeth, like the Norse drawings of wolves and bestial warriors.

"Suit yourself. We're already here," Romanoff gestured to the door just ahead of her- the door that led to the room that held my cage, and I waited until the cuffs pulled me into the room before I took another step.

Very carefully and very deliberately, I walked back into my shiny, pristine cage, and turned around so I faced Romanoff. The familiar coldness was running through my veins, my eyes were turning molten silver, and I didn't even have to look at my hands to know that the _hagalaz_ was burned into my palms.

"Proklyatiye na vash dom," I spoke in a guttural tone, more animal than human. Then, with as much spite as I could muster, I leaned forward and spat at Romanoff.

She closed the door to my cage just late enough that it closed after the spittle had landed at her feet. I straightened my back and glared at her, the perfect image of a fallen warrior, bent and chained and bloodied, but the bends were in the links of the chains, and that blood was in the eyes.

_A curse on your house._

Romanoff exited the room silently, and I was once again left by myself.

"Potomu chto u menya ikh dostatochno," I said to myself, the _hagalaz_ on each palm already fading with the lack of wind or a breeze.

_Because I have enough of them._


	9. Silence on the lake

I didn't speak to anyone after the incident with Romanoff. Why would I? SHIELD had already figured out more about me than I had willingly told anyone in the last eight years. 

They were smart, I had to give that to them. Were they also accurate, with the whole 'You're Russian' thing?

Yeah.

I didn't like to bring it up- mostly because the whole well of unwanted memories would bubble up too. Besides, why let the enemy know something about yourself? It only leads to more mind games and before you know it they've blackmailed you into becoming a lab rat.

And yes again, I did consider SHIELD to be an enemy. Honestly, everyone was an enemy to me. And it's true; anyone you meet can hurt you, anyone you see can destroy your home, anyone who you talk to can rip your heart to shreds, given motivation or sometimes not. Everyone is an enemy until they've proven themselves not to be, and even then in the end they'll hurt you, inevitably. Most people choose instead to trust with wild abandon, to give strangers the benefit of the doubt. You'll be hard pressed to find someone who views the world like me.

I just figured out the truth quicker than most people.

"Dinner's ready." Romanoff's cool voice broke through the silence of the cage. I didn't look up at her from where I was seated on my bed, forearms propped up on my knees, back to the glass.. But I heard the door hiss open, and then closed a second later.

"You ready to be a bit more chatty today?" She asked.

I said nothing.

"This would go a lot smoother if you cooperated."

I said nothing.

"We're willing to cut you a deal if you talk with us."

I said nothing.

Silence.

"I'll get the tray in an hour."

Then the metal door to the outer room swung shut, and I was alone again. Finally, I moved. Standing up fluidly, I quietly padded to the other side of the cage, and picked up the tray. Bringing it back to the bed, I sat down again, this time on the floor, and began eating.

Ever since Romanoff worked out my heritage, I had been served nothing but authentic Russian meals, and no potatoes. They were most likely trying to curry my favor with it- something so trivial that it would never work, even if I didn't hate their guts.

And the food- sure, the rye bread was still warm from the oven, and the soup definitely wasn't from a can. But it all tasted like sawdust to me. I had been trained not to pay attention to taste in my past- I guess that training leaked over to my personal life when I left Russia.

I finished dinner. I placed the tray back near the cage door. I sat down on the bed, exactly how I was before. And I waited for the lights in the room to go off so I could go to sleep.

I, I, I. No one else in the room. Just me and what I did to pass the time from when I woke up to when I fell back asleep. Just the routine and me.

Wake up. Breakfast. Sit in the middle of the cage. Lunch. Walk in circles. Dinner. Count the days I'd been in here. Lights out. Fall asleep.

Wake up in the night, or what passed for it in here. Go to sleep again. Nightmare. Wake up again. Try not to fall asleep.

Lights on.

Everyday for the past two weeks had been the same. Everyday I went through the same motions. Everyday I spent in silence. Everyday Romanoff tried to get me to talk, sometimes speaking in Russian, sometimes English, and one time a valiant effort at ASL.

Do I really have to say that nothing worked?

I was better than that. I had been trained better than that. I knew that to crack under pressure or false comfort was to taste steel and blood and shame. I was better. Dyadya Alexei knew that. He believed in me. He trained me better than that.

The door to the room opened again, and footsteps made their way up to the door of the cage again. Quiet, simple, unnoticeable in a crowd. Romanoff.

"Wanna talk?" Her voice filtered through the speaker in the cage.

I said nothing.

She sighed. The door opened. The door closed. She walked out.

Then the lights switched off. Everything was dark. I could barely see the outline of my hand. Time to go to sleep.

The cot that I was sitting on had a basic pillow that provided little comfort. The blanket was thin but the cage wasn't cold, so it evened out pretty well. In terms of the mattress- there was none. It was just a cot, nothing more, nothing less.

So I slipped underneath the little blanket, still in the shirt and shorts that I had been given two weeks ago, and rested my head down on the pillow. The hum of the engines and machinery in the walls lulled my mind, and the peacefulness in the room was enough to calm me to the point of sleep. I didn't even remember closing my eyes.

_I was standing near a lake, in the middle of winter. Snow blanketed the trees and the ground around me. A single bird chirped somewhere in the forest. A chilly breeze meandered through, barely enough to feel the cold acutely on my red cheeks._

_I was seven years old, dressed in a bright red snow jacket with matching boots. A white hat, mittens, and sweater completed my outfit, which was put together by Mama. Mama liked having things that matched. She said it was part of her personality, to find the perfect match for everything, to have all the puzzle pieces fit together._

_"_ _Мама, я могу играть на льду?" I asked in my high-pitched child's voice, craning my head up to look at her._

_"Gale, I told you before," Mama said in her thick accent. "We are to practice English today. It will be useful for you when you are older."_

_"Прости_ \- _Sorry, Mama," I stumbled, my accent no better than hers. "Mama, I can run on ice?"_

_"It is 'Mama, can I play on the ice'," she corrected me softly. Then Mama smiled. "And if you are careful, you may."_

_"Thank you Mama!" I smiled brightly and hopped up and down. I started to run towards the frozen lake, but Mama didn't let go of my hand and she gently pulled me back._

_"Wait for Papa," she reminded me._

_"But Papa-" I whined._

_"He is talking with one of our own," Mama told me with a shake of her fire-red hair. "He wanted to play with you on the ice, so we will wait for him."_

_"Fine," I kicked the snow at my feet crossly, sending up plumes of white powder that spun in the air._

_"Gale," Mama scolded me. "Patience."_

_"But I- I-" I blew a wisp of dark hair out of my face angrily._

_"Gale," Mama said again, this time kinder. "You want to see a trick?"_

_All traces of stubbornness forgotten, I turned to Mama and giggled with delight. "Yes!_ да _!"_

_"Look closely now," Mama crouched down next to me, her own red snow coat brushing against mine. She slipped her hand out from my grip and held it between us, palm up. I leaned forward, eagerly staring at her hand._

_Then a flicker of light appeared, just underneath her skin. Golden and warm, it formed a little puddle in the dip of her palm. It swirled around, gathering more colors- red, orange, yellow, bronze. And then the light began to spread, in delicate tendrils that curled around her fingers. The lights pulsed in time with her steady heartbeat._

_Then, in the center of her palm, a mark appeared, unlike the swirls that decorated the rest of her hand. It was a rune, a rune that I had seen before. It appeared whenever Mama used her наследие- I didn't know the English word yet for that._

_"It is called the Dagaz," Mama told me in a whisper._

_"What does it mean?" I asked her, reaching out towards her palm. I traced the rune with my fingers, her skin almost too hot to touch._

_"It means day. And hope, and happiness."_

_"It is beautiful," I said in awe._

_"Someday, my little Gale, I will teach you how to do this," Mama told me. I looked at her, both of our faces lit up by her hand, both pairs of eyes twinkling. "And when you do this, your rune will appear, and you will have something special that is truly yours and no one else's."_

_"Thank you Mama," I breathed out._

_"Gale," Mama started. "Have you done anything else with your наследие? Has it changed?"_

" _Mama, it was a year ago," I tilted my head. "Papa said that it would have changed many months ago, if it did."_

_"Gale! Katerina!" A voice called out from behind us._

_Mama stood up, the light in her hand fading. "Ruslan!"_

_I turned around and saw Papa striding out of the forest. He was wearing his long black coat and his winter boots, and the cream-colored gloves that Mama made for him last year. Smiling at us, he pulled Mama into a hug when he reached us, and patted me on my head._

_"And how are my two ladies doing?" Papa asked us, his English almost perfect- only the trace of a Russian accent remained._

_"I want to play on the ice!" I hopped up and down impatiently._

_"Slow down, Gale!" Papa released Mama, and got down on one knee in front of me._

_"But the ice..." I said in a rush._

_"Ruslan," Mama said suddenly, putting a hand on Papa's shoulder. Papa stood up, and turned to the forest._

_Another man was walking out from the trees, moving purposefully towards us. He was exactly the opposite of Papa: Papa's hair was black like ink and kept shorter on the side, and the stranger's was like mercury but longer and untidy; Papa's eyes were like pale marble, and the stranger's eyes were as dark as the night. Papa was big, the other man was thin; Papa's face was strong and square and a bit wrinkled, and the stranger's was more delicate and finely cut and very young._

_"Ruslan," the stranger called out. "It's been a while."_

_"For good reason," Papa said stiffly._

_"Ruslan, be nice," Mama told him._

_The stranger dipped his head to Mama and smiled. "It's a pleasure, as always."_

_"Why are you here?" Papa demanded, before Mama could reply._

_"I'm hurt, Ruslan," the stranger said lightly, placing a hand on his chest. "What reason do I need to want to visit one of the happiest families in all of Russia?"_

_"Papa," I spoke up, tugging on his coat. I was bored already, and I didn't even know who this man was. "I want to play."_

_"Go ahead, my dear," Papa told me, not taking his eyes off of the stranger._

" _Okay, okay!" Papa laughed. "Go ahead, my dear. I'll be with you in a moment."_

_"Whee!" I giggled as I raced down to the lake._

_It was a large lake. Me and Mama and Papa would come here in the summer and row in a tiny boat around for hours. They always would make me wear a life vest, even though I could swim just fine, because their наследия weren't in the water circle._

_"Gale, do not go too far!" Mama called after me._

_"Okay, Mama!" I cried back, and reached the lake._

_The ice was thick this time of year, and I wasn't heavy. Mama and Papa said it was perfect to play on. So I stepped onto the slick ice, and began to walk around, getting a feel for it._

_I looked back at Mama, Papa, and the stranger. They were talking together, just loud enough for me to hear parts of the conversation._

_I slipped on the ice, and fell backwards onto my hands. When my palms hit the ice, the fresh snow around it was blown backwards, as if some great hand had swept it all away in one stroke._

_"Gale!" Mama cried out from where she was._

_"I'm okay!" I popped back up, brushing off my gloves._

_The stranger was staring at me, his mercury hair blowing into his face. I cocked my head to the side, staring back. He smiled at me, a friendly lop-sided grin, and I found myself grinning back._

_Then I turned back around and hopped around in the ice, and tried to slide on it. My boots were slick enough so I glided several feet before I skidded to a stop. It was fun, just sliding everywhere. Even when I stopped, it felt like I was still moving._

_"Why didn't you tell me the moment her наследие appeared?" I heard the stranger raise his voice at Papa. Looking back at them, I saw the man and Papa arguing. "I could've helped. You know what I do. You know I can help her in a way that- apologies, Katerina- neither of you can!"_

_"She is my child! Not yours!" Papa said angrily._

_Mama said something to them, something quiet, and they both calmed down. I wondered if I should go back to them. Mama never liked it when other people were angry. But then a white dot fell past my nose. And then another, and another. I twisted my head upwards._

_I laughed in delight as snow began to fall from the clouds up ahead. Holding my arms out, I spun around in circles, all thoughts of Papa and Mama and the stranger out of my mind. The wind around me picked up ever so slightly, throwing snowflakes in spirals._

_Mama said it was my наследие- that I was making the wind do that. She said it was like her and fire and sunlight, that they danced together, and that I would learn how to dance with the wind soon._

_I ventured out further from the edges of the lake, onto the ice that was clearer. Giggling happily, I ran forward and then flopped onto my belly, rocketing across the white-blue ice._

_I flipped over onto my back, staring up at the sky filled with fluffy white-grey clouds. Sighing, I watched a large snowflake tumble slowly downwards, heading towards me._

_It was such a pretty snowflake, I noticed. Perfect in every way. And it was falling so slowly, as if it were waiting for me._

_So I got to my feet, and I reached up to touch it. But the little breeze that swept across the lake blew the snowflake away from me. Frowning, I trotted after it, but it flew faster away, and I started running after it._

_"Don't go!" I called to the snowflake. "Let me catch up!"_

_And finally, I took one big jump up and I caught the snowflake between my hands. Peeking carefully as I slowly curled back my fingers, I saw my prize. Without trying to, the snowflake was hovering in the air, an inch above my mittens. I could feel the wind stroking my skin as I leaned in closer._

_"Yes!" I cheered, and jumped up again out of joy. I had my snowflake and it really was perfect and I couldn't wait to show Mama-_

_Then a crack broke through my happiness as I landed back on the ice. Frowning, I looked around._

_I had come much further from the edge of the lake than I thought I had. Right now, I was nearing the middle of the lake, where the ice was the clearest. Mama, Papa, and the stranger were talking to each other on the land, but Papa and the other man looked like they were still arguing. I was alone out here._

_I took a step towards them, only to have another crack stop me, this one much louder than the last. Then I looked down. A white fracture had appeared in the ice right below my feet._

_The snowflake fell from my hands as I turned around, staring at the tiny cracks that surrounded me. The little cluster of snow and ice that I had chased so far hit the frozen surface of the lake, but I didn't bother to notice._

_"Mama?" I said, still looking down at the ice. I shifted my right foot forward, hesitantly, and the ice fractured again, the crack spreading several feet in front of me._

_I panicked. I didn't know what to do. "MAMA!" I yelled in fright._

_The grown-ups stopped talking, and three heads turned towards me. When they saw my little red coat, a single splash of color against the snow and the ice, so far from where they were- I could see the sudden fear on their faces._

_"Gale!" Mama shouted, and broke out running towards me._

_Suddenly, I heard a thunderous clap of sound that came from all around me, like every bone in my body was breaking all at once. And then the ice gave out._

_I plunged downwards before I could even cry out. The cold hit me like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath out of my lungs. Ice ripped through my coat and sweater like they were paper, piercing my skin like knives. I couldn't move, couldn't think- all I knew was that I was as cold as the grave and the water all around me was dark like the night and I couldn't see._

_From somewhere above me, a burst of golden light shone through the ice and the water. Mama, I thought. But I couldn't bring myself to move, couldn't try to swim. Everything was starting to go numb... at least it was better than the cold... I could close my eyes..._

_Then something grabbed my coat by the neck, and I was yanked upwards like a fish on a hook._

_And then everything was white and bright, and someone was patting my cheek._

_I sucked in a deep breath, one that hurt my ribs, and coughed as the air rasped through my throat. Someone helped me sit upright, and when the coughing had died down, I looked up._

_Kneeling there was the stranger, pale hair falling into his face, dark eyes shining. I stared at the ice several yards away, where a hole was. The water underneath it was swirled into a funnel, reaching downwards._

_The stranger waved a hand at the funnel and it vanished, the water assuming its rightful place. His hand was spiraled with soft grey marks, and on his palm... the Algiz- a rune that was shaped like a capital 'y', with one line in the middle. That meant... he must've pulled me out of the water... he was like Mama and Papa and me..._

_"I don't believe we've been properly introduced," the man said with an easy smile, holding out a hand. "My name is Alexei."_

My eyes snapped open.

Everything was dark. For a second, fear paralyzed me. I thought I was still underneath the water, under the ice, in the cold and the dark and swallowed in terror.

And then I felt the blanket twisted in my hands, I felt the stagnant air surrounding me, I felt the sweat on my skin.

I almost wished I were back at the lake.

I shifted in my place, and felt the hard metal digging into my spine. Grazing my fingers on the surface I was on, I realized that I had rolled onto the floor while I was dreaming.

Grunting, I lifted myself upright and rubbed my eyes. There was no use trying to go back to sleep now, not when I had dreamed of the lake. After the lake came nightmares, the kind that left me screaming until my throat was raw and even after that.

I had no death wish. So I did not wish to fall asleep.

I crawled back up onto the cot and sat with my back to the glass. Tilting my head backwards, I closed my eyes for a moment. I could still feel the bite of ice under my skin, could still hear my mother shout my name in terror, could still see the snowflake tumbling innocently down from the heavens.

I shivered, the cage seeming to drop ten degrees in the span of a blink. Reaching for the blanket, I pulled it back over my shoulders. But as I did so, the skin on my forearms stung.

I gently poked the inside of my left forearm, and a bright bolt of pain burst out. Gasping in reflex, I forced myself to corner the pain in my mind and seal it off, and traced the skin with my fingers. 

The skin had been scratched over and over again to the point where it broke open, oozing blood that had trickled down to my elbows. Frowning, I repeated the process on my right arm- the same had happened. And then I realized what the scratches were.

On my left arm- the Dagaz. And the right- Algiz.

I had done this.

I gulped, my mouth dry all of a sudden. This- this hadn't happened for years- and the last time it did- God, I couldn't think of it. Not right now. Not after the lake.

I forced myself to control my breathing, even breaths in... even breaths out... in... out...

Soon enough, my heartbeat was back to its calm pace. Exhaustion replaced panic. Weariness replaced fear. Numbness replaced pain.

I was back to what passed for normal. 

And did the fact that my 'normal' was made of those things worry me?

No. The numbness took care of the worry. And besides...

Why would I wish to feel pain for a life that was naught but ashes? For people whose only legacy was... was a marble tombstone and an old photograph? Why would I want to feel like my heart was shreds held up by tape and prayers?

With no one to feel happy for, and no one to love...

I just didn't see the point in feeling pain for someone who could never hold me again.


	10. Deals with Davy Jones (or some other grumpy pirate in a long coat, I guess)

The lights to the room turned on exactly six hours and thirty-seven minutes after I woke up from the lake dream. I hadn't gone to sleep. Instead, I sat in the middle of the cage, soaked in darkness, waiting for something to happen- anything, really. I guess I just... didn't really know how to deal with the dream. I had never been in a cage when I'd had the lake dream- I could always get some fresh air, go for a walk- and here I was trapped.

When the lights switched on and the familiar hum of the mechanics filled the room, I walked back to my bed and straightened everything out. It was pure habit- the few things I possessed, I took care of. Even when I was living in a dumpster, I took pride in making my surroundings as neat as possible. But now, now... I was just running through the motions, my mind still stumbling over itself.

And then something strange happened, something out of the routine.

While I was tucking the blanket in at the end of the cot, the door to the room suddenly opened- but it wasn't even close to breakfast time. A pair of footsteps walked up to the cage- heavy but not graceless. Not Romanoff.

"Hey, featherweight," Barton's voice greeted me. "How's your time here at the SHIELD Bed & Breakfast?"

I said nothing, just fluffed up the insubstantial pillow I was given.

"Sheesh, tough crowd," I could hear Barton rolling his eyes. "So I heard you don't like potatoes."

Exhaling sharply, I looked at him over my shoulder and shot the man a withering glare. Barton was just standing there in street clothes, as smug as the Cheshire Cat.

"Finally!" Barton chuckled. "She's not an emotionless statue after all!"

Gritting my teeth, I went back to fluffing up my insubstantial pillow. I couldn't hear Barton moving- he was still standing there, probably with that idiot grin on his face.

After a minute had passed and I had smoothed out about twenty imaginary wrinkles in the blanket, I gave up. Whirling around, I glared at Barton and jerked my head towards the door. The message was clear enough.

"Not yet, pipsqueak." Barton's infuriating smile grew as I became more and more annoyed. "Director Fury's made a decision about your case, and he's..." Barton suddenly trailed off, face looking much more serious.

I narrowed my eyes at him, a bit confused.

"That's-" Barton was staring at my arms. "That's blood."

My face went pale, even though my skin was already quite fair. I had completely forgotten about the scratches- I was so used to dealing with pain and shoving it off that the scratches just vanished from my mind, even when the blood had dripped down my arms and dried there. And now I was in a heap load of horse-dung.

"Gale," Barton's voice dropped the arrogant tone. "How did that happen?"

I gave my head a small shake to the side, not wanting to answer. Taking a few steps backwards, away from the man, I told myself that it was nothing. It was just a scratch, nothing big, it was just a scratch, it was just a dream-

"Gale." Barton interrupted my thoughts. "Did you..."

I looked down at my hands. My fingernails were crusted red at the tips. Faintly, I realized that I hadn't even noticed that until now.

"Okay. Gale, that doesn't look too good." Barton was speaking slow and and calmly, like he was talking to a small child. "So I'm gonna call a doctor in here to take a look at that-"

I inhaled sharply and looked off to the side of the cage, not meeting the man's gaze.

"Right," Barton muttered. "You don't like doctors."

I sat down on my bed, and turned away so that my back was to him. I didn't want to see him, didn't want to hear him, I just wanted to be alone. I just wanted to be somewhere- _anywhere_ \- else... somewhere with the wind.

"Gale?" Barton said. "Gale. Come on. Don't be a child about this."

I didn't even blink. It took Barton a couple of minutes before he gave up and exited the room.

Oh, God, finally. I let out a sigh and leaned forward, resting my forehead on the cool glass. Now I could just relax in here and try to forget about the lake again but it never worked and-

I focused on my breathing, evening it out, deepening the breaths, until every trace of emotion- good and bad- was gone. And honestly, what good emotion could I be feeling right now? I guess overwhelming joy, because Barton was gone.

And the door opened again, and someone walked up to the cage. Closing my eyes, I stifled a groan and instead resorted to gently banging my head against the glass.

"Well, I'd say it's nice to see you again, but I don't know whether or not the feeling is mutual."

I stopped banging my head. That wasn't Barton, it was... I looked over my shoulder at the person standing in front of the cage.

"Hi," Dr. Banner said, a bit belatedly. "It's me."

I raised an eyebrow.

Dr. Banner held up what he was carrying: a small-ish metal box with a red cross painted on it. "Barton said you got hurt. I just want to make sure the wounds don't get infected, and see if they need stitches."

I stared at him, waiting to see what else he would do. Dr. Banner opened the cage door and quickly stepped inside, and then the cage door slid shut.

"Mind if I come over there?" Dr. Banner gestured to me.

I gave him a nod and a sarcastic smile, making sure he got the message.

He paused. "Okay, then." To my surprise, Dr. Banner sat down right in the middle of the cage, and set the medical kit next to him.

I narrowed my eyes at the scientist. He stared back, curiosity the only thing showing on his face.

"We never really got to talk, when you were still in Avengers Towers," Dr. Banner started.

I shrugged, noncommittally.

"I think you're interesting," he admitted. I looked at the man with renewed interest. "Yeah, well," Dr. Banner shrugged. "I'm a scientist. We're curious by nature. You're an enhanced individual, and no one- expect you- has a clue as to how you got your powers."

I looked away, a bitter expression on my face. Of course it was my powers. It was _always_ about my powers. Heck, they're what got me here in the first place!

"Um, sorry, if that, uh, offended you. I wasn't trying to insult you or anything," Dr. Banner said awkwardly.

Sighing grumpily, I crossed my arms. Almost immediately, I sucked in a breath as the scratches on my arms flared up, sending little bolts of pain running up and down my arms.

"Gale-" Dr. Banner started to get up. I shot him a warning glare, and he reluctantly sat back down.

I took a closer took at the scratches on my arms. Yeah, they had bled and most of the blood was dry, but some parts of the wounds were actually kinda deep and... well, I didn't have anything to cover them with, besides my blanket. And that cot was uncomfortable enough as it was. Not to mention that I lacked the skill to tend to the scratches, so...

I sighed in defeat, lowered my head, and pointed to the medical kit.

"What?" Dr. Banner frowned.

Rolling my eyes, I pointed at the kit again, still unwilling to speak for now.

"Oh. _Oh_ ," Dr. Banner said in understanding. "Right, well, this shouldn't take too long."

He stood up and walked over to me, and carefully sat down to my right. "Um, would you mind...?"

I held out my forearms, letting him inspect the scratches. Dr. Banner adjusted his glasses, going straight into that instant 'work mode'.

"And... how did this happen?" Dr. Banner asked me. I lifted my hands up so he could see my fingernails, the ones that still had some dried blood on them. "Ah."

I braced myself for the inevitable next question, but Dr. Banner instead opened I was grateful that he didn't ask anything else about it, mostly because I would feel somewhat obliged to answer. Dr. Banner, I thought, was definitely not like SHIELD. Therefore, he wasn't an enemy. Yet.

"Good news," Dr. Banner spoke up, glancing up at me briefly. "You won't need stitches."

I sighed in relief. God, I hated stitches. They were insanely hard to mind after, especially when I liked to be moving a lot.

Dr. Banner chuckled at my reaction. "I see you're happy about that. Well, these cuts are just deep enough to be cause for concern if they get infected. And they'll take a while to heal... or maybe not. You do seem to have somewhat accelerated healing."

I moved on shoulder up and down, and nodded to the medical kit with a questioning expression.

"Oh, this?" Dr. Banner seemed to catch my drift. "I'm just going to clean up some of the blood and disinfect the cuts, maybe tape some of the areas together, and then wrap your arms up. Are you okay with that?"

I simply nodded. Dr. Banner pulled out a small bottle of disinfectant and a cloth. He placed the cloth over the mouth of the bottle and quickly wet it, and then reached out for one of my arms.

"This might sting a bit," he warned me, and then began to clean away the blood and dab the cloth on the cuts.

It was a lot worse than 'stinging'. Heck, it burned. But it wasn't the worst pain I had ever felt- not by far. So I stared straight ahead, calmly, until Dr. Banner had finished with the disinfectant on both arms. Next, he took out some medical tape, and started gently pulling the edges of the cuts together.

"So..." Dr. Banner spoke up. "These cuts... they look like runes of some sort. What do they mean?"

I gritted my teeth and sharply shook my head.

"Look, I get that you don't want to talk to anyone," Dr. Banner said as he began to wrap up my arms with a roll of bandages. "But we really are just trying to help you."

I couldn't help it. A spiteful laugh snuck its way out of my lungs. 

"The sooner you realize it, the sooner you can get out of here," Dr. Banner continued, tying off one arm with deft fingers and pinning it down with a little plastic clip, and turned to the other arm.

We both lapsed into silence. Well, I was already silent, so I guess the doctor just stopped talking. He just quietly wrapped my arms up, starting just below the thin black cuffs on my wrists and going down to right above my elbow. I tried not to fidget or itch at the ends of the wrappings, knowing that I would only get a lecture. But soon enough, the doctor finished the bandages and packed up the medical kit.

"Well, I guess I'll see you sometime," Dr. Banner said as he walked to the door of the cage. Just before he opened the door and walked out, I stood up.

"Thank you."

Dr. Banner turned around in surprise. Honestly, I was surprised too that I actually said it.

"Um, well, it's kinda my job," Dr. Banner stumbled over his reply after a pause.

"Not for that," I cut across him. "I... they showed me my file. Almost everything was blank. Including the section about family." I didn't want to specifically mention my uncle, but the least I could do was thank him. Gratitude's given when gratitude's deserved, after all.

Dr. Banner let out a tiny 'o' of understanding. "Well, I told you I wasn't the kind of person to take advantage of information, especially when you trusted me enough to tell me."

"Not trust," I corrected him, voice a bit hoarse from disuse. "Not yet."

"Right," he half-laughed and looked down at the floor. "Also... you're actually talking."

"I can fix that."

"No, no, it's just... you wouldn't talk to anybody else. Why me?" Dr. Banner asked.

I took in a deep breath, and ran my fingers over the new bandages. "First of all, you didn't look at me like I was gonna murder you in your sleep. Second of all, you could've sent any other qualified doctor in here, or you could've knocked me out with the cuffs or with the handy-dandy sleeping gas dispensers in this cage and _then_ cleaned me up all nice and pretty. But you didn't. And third of all, Dr. Banner, I know what kind of dangerous you are."

"Wait," Dr. Banner paused. "What kind of... dangerous... I'm sorry, I don't follow."

I laughed, short and sharp, and crossed my arms. "I know what kind of dangerous you are," I repeated. "You're Dr. Bruce Banner, and you're also the Hulk. Two people living in the same body. I know the Hulk. I also know you. And if you know something, you know what actions will provoke certain outcomes. With Agents Romanoff and Barton, I don't know the full extent of their abilities. Therefore, I'm at a severe disadvantage, seeing as they seem to understand my abilities more than I care to acknowledge."

I shifted my weight, spreading my feet out in a defensive stance. It was natural for me, even after all of these years. "Dr. Banner, I may or may not be able to defeat the Hulk. I don't know if I can. But I know what the Hulk can do." I shrugged. "Also, you're not asking me invasive questions about my past or my personal life, so there's a bonus."

Dr. Banner observed me for a moment, mulling over something.

"I can shut up now, if you'd like," I offered.

"Clint told you about Fury's deal, right?" Dr. Banner asked me, tilting his head.

"He kinda noticed the, uh," I gestured to my arms. "And then he split. To get you, I realize."

"Oh," Dr. Banner said. "Well, in that case, I guess I'll just help prove Fury's decision."

"Uh," I held up a finger. "'Scuse me?"

Dr. Banner opened the cage door with a little clicker that was in his pocket, and even after he stepped out of it, the door didn't close.

"Sorry," I frowned and pointed to myself. "Dangerous enhanced individual who _really_ likes screwing with people. Probably should close that door before I get too _volatile_ again."

"Nope," Dr. Banner promptly replied. "You want to know Fury's deal? Come on. You may not trust me but I trust you not to blow anything up or kill anyone."

"Wow," I raised my eyebrows. "I don't know if that's a brilliant leap of faith or one that with inevitably lead to your agonizing demise."

"Just keep up. I'm technically not supposed to let you out, but with the deal and everything, I figure they won't throw you back in that cage," Dr. Banner shrugged.

"Oh, I'm coming," I hustled out of the cage and followed Dr. Banner out of the room.

We exited into the bright hallway. Dr. Banner turned to the left and walked briskly towards what seemed to be an elevator. I padded behind, my bare feet pressing against the cold floor and sending little chills through my legs. It felt good to stretch my legs, after so long in that tiny cage.

Dr. Banner and I got into the elevator, which thankfully was empty. He pressed a button on the side, and the floor began to rise beneath us. As the seconds ticked by, I just stood there, hands clasped loosely in front of me.

"So," I started. "Any chance that you can tell me about this deal before we get to wherever we're going?"

Dr. Banner chuckled. "I think Fury will be able to explain it better than I can."

I shrugged. "As long as it doesn't involve a straight jacket and more potatoes, I'm cool with waiting."

The elevator slowed to a stop, and cheerfully dinged open. I followed Dr. Banner out into a fancier hallway- this one was bright but not so bright that you could file for assault on your retinas. And the walls were at least _painted_ grey instead of being left bare.

And then we came out into a _gigantic_ room. I couldn't even call it a room. It was as high as a four story hotel, but most of the space was just open. The entire fall wall was made entirely out of glass, and I could see the sky through it. My mouth went dry as I halted in my tracks, staring at the glass.

God, it was the sky. The _sky_. An actual, honest-to-God sky. It was a perfect blue, with fluffy white clouds that I thought only existed in paintings. After being locked up for at least a month... I could see the sky.

Then I noticed the agents.

The entire floor was a maze of monitors and screens, with easily a hundred agents buzzing around down there. I was standing above them, so there was that- but it was little consolation. Without these stupid cuffs, I could take down at least twenty before I got tired. _With_ them, well, I'd be lunch meat if I made a run for it. And regardless of the situation, I didn't like being outnumbered by people with military training and guns.

Then an agent saw me. He immediately stood up and pressed a hand to his ear piece, staring at me. "Sir? Sir, there's been a breach! Asset G-23 is out of containment!"

"Asset G-23?" I frowned and cocked an eyebrow.

But four agents around that one guy stood up, hands reaching for weapons. I immediately took a step back, holding up my hands.

"It's okay, it's okay!" Dr. Banner hurried over, waving at the agents. They reluctantly sat back down, but never took their eyes off me. Dr. Banner walked me over to a large conference table behind what appeared to be a central control panel.

"Really? So I'm an asset now?" I said, standing back so I could see the floor full of agents and the sky at the same time.

"It's..." Dr. Banner started. "Well, I don't really know. But Fury can explain-"

"And what exactly will I be explaining?" Director Fury himself strode into the control room, black coat swinging behind him. "Dr. Banner, you do realize that Gale is supposed to be-"

"In my specialized room?" Dr. Banner finished. "Clint never finished telling her about the deal."

Fury sighed. "Every time I think I've got this situation under control, something happens."

"This situation?" I repeated. "Happy to know that not only am I put in a cage, I am actually referred to as a situation."

Fury turned his remaining eye towards me. "You're talking."

"I still have a mouth, don't I?" I shot back.

"Interesting," Fury commented, looking between Dr. Banner and I. "She talked to you."

"What can I say," I held my arms out, smiling bright and wide. "Turns out I'm real friendly with people who don't advocate my kidnapping."

Fury walked to the head of the conference table, which I now realized had the SHIELD eagle emblazoned on its glass surface. "Take a seat, Gale."

I leaned against the back of a chair. "I think I'm good. Besides, I'd like to stand for a while before I get booted back to my oh so lovely cage where I'll just end up sitting on the cot for hours on end."

Fury turned towards the front of the room, and singled out a lone agent. "You! Jefferys, isn't it? Go get a tray of coffees and call the others up here!"

The agent nodded and hurried towards the hallway. 

"Oh, get me a croissant, some honey smoked ham, and some mozzarella slices. It's already time for breakfast and I am _hungry_ ," I added.

"Gale, I'm sure that by now you know that I've come to a decision concerning your situation," Fury started, staring at me once again.

"Oh, yes, do continue," I waved a hand at him.

Fury glared at me before continuing. "Seeing as you're unwilling to share any pertinent information with us, and you've maintained your silence for an... admirable amount of time, I've decided to forgo the interrogation protocol."

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow. Did it physically pain you to ignore a rule or what?"

"Gale," Dr. Banner spoke up as he took a seat across the table from me. "You might want to listen for this."

I rolled my eyes, but held my tongue. "What's the deal, eyepatch?"

"I'm willing to let you go from this facility," Fury answered coolly.

"What's the catch?" I frowned. Something as good as that, there was always a catch.

"You'll still be under direct SHIELD supervision," Fury admitted. "And if there's one more slip-up, if you lose control one more time, you'll be back here in a new specialized cell just for you. Permanently."

"And when you say 'direct SHIELD observation'," I said. "You mean...?"

"Hey, who let the featherweight out?" A new voice came from the hallway behind me. I slowly dropped my head onto my arms and let out a groan.

"Barton, glad you could finally join us," Fury replied.

"Still doesn't answer my question," Barton said, and took a seat near Dr. Banner.

"I brought her here," Dr. Banner admitted. "This whole deal works on trust, right?" The man gestured to me. "We trust Gale not to run away, destroy anything, or kill anyone."

"No promises in Stark's case. And Barton's." I said in a bored tone. "Actually, I'm pretty much annoyed with the world, so I guess Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers, and Miss Potts are the only ones that are safe."

"Not helping," Dr. Banner muttered under his breath.

"But," I said, exaggerating the word. "I will try my very hardest to not remove any spines from their current owners."

"Better," Dr. Banner admitted. "Though not by much. But we're trusting you, Gale, so you need to trust us."

"I already told you multiple times," I leaned my head back in exasperation. "I don't trust anyone. I am devoid of trust. No trust here."

"Gale," Fury spoke up. "We're not going to lock you up in any sort of cell. We're not going to keep you confined to a single room. So you need to meet us halfway here."

"Ugh," I groaned. "Fine. I'm warning you, though, I'm allergic to cooperation."

"Also," Barton added. "Since when are you talking?"

"Since you weren't the one blabbing their mouth at me," I shot back.

"Quiet!" Fury ordered. Barton and I immediately shut up. For a second, at least.

Then I threw an insult at him in ASL, and he replied likewise, and soon enough we were both waving our hands in the air with ferocity as Dr. Banner and Fury watched, a bit worried and a bit weirded out.

"Do I need to tell you to sit on your hands like a child?" Fury snapped.

"Yeah, Gale," Barton mocked. "Do you need to sit on your hands like-"

"I was talking to you," Fury interrupted him.

I didn't even bother to restrain my smile and the bout of giggles that followed. "Aw, Birdbrain, do you want a juice box? Maybe some gummy snacks?"

"Gale," Fury said stiffly. "If you are incapable of dropping your attitude, then you will go back to your cell and the deal with be off."

"Ha," I chuckled. "See, I don't think that's gonna happen. That's an empty threat and we both know it."

"Gale, what you're doing right now is _not_ smart," Dr. Banner warned me.

"Look," I ignored the doctor and stared right back at Fury. "If I was as dangerous as you think I am, I'd be back in that miserable excuse of a cage right now instead of making a deal with you."

"So you're saying we overestimated your abilities?" Barton frowned.

I shrugged casually. "Overestimate, underestimate, what's the difference? They both make you a fool." I stopped leaning on the chair and sat down in it, crossing my legs. "See, Dr. Banner is dangerous. No offense," I told the doctor.

"It's true," Dr. Banner shrugged, but I could see the slump in his shoulders when I said that. 

"So," I continued. "Why isn't he in that cage right now? Why am I the one negotiating for a shred of freedom? By my reckoning, I haven't hurt anybody here. By all means, you should be giving me the standard treatment when it comes to dealing with what you call 'gifted individuals'. I'm not a criminal, and I don't take the law into my own hands just because I've got powers."

"You lost control near a crowded street in New York. Had Captain Rogers and Tony Stark not stopped you, you would've hurt dozens of innocents." Fury responded coolly.

I threw back my head and laughed. All three men at the table looked surprised at my audacity. "Oh," I chuckled. "You complain about me not telling you anything, but you never listen to what I'm really saying." I leaned forward and put my arms on the table, the coolness of the glass seeping through the bandages on my arms.

"You see," I said. "What did I say when I first woke up after Birdbrain here shot me?" I waited. No one said anything. I sighed. "This is gonna be harder than I thought. Okay, let me put it like this: what did I say I did when the Chitauri invaded?"

Barton wrinkled his forehead, obviously recalling the conversation. "You said... you stopped a group of them that was getting away from the rest of us. One that would've killed a lot of people."

"Bingo!" I clapped my hands together. "We have a winner! Gentlemen, pirates, and bird fanatics, I don't enjoy hurting innocent people. I know, shocking. Aren't all rogue powered people murders and monsters? Well, to put it into an elaborate and detailed explanation- No. We're not." I reclined in my seat. "I only hurt those who deserve it."

"So you're a vigilante," Fury reasoned.

I face-palmed. "Okay, I'm gonna start from the top. Let me know where I lost you."

"But why do you think I won't send you right back to that cell?" Fury demanded.

"Because I obviously have something you want," I gave in. "Dr. Banner is here because he's a genius, and a very good asset to have. If he didn't like you- well, we wouldn't be talking to each other right now. So why am I here? Why were my meals upgraded? Why wasn't I interrogated like any other information-withholding individual?"

I looked over at Barton. "It's okay if you need me to use smaller words, honey, if you can't understand me."

Before he could respond, I turned back to Fury. "I took out a fleet of Chitauri. I managed to stay under every single radar that you and all other governments have for my entire life- and for half of that time, I was on my own. I've got powers you don't understand, an attitude that drives you crazy, and a psyche you can't possibly _begin_ to figure out."

I spread out my hands in a grand gesture. "I'm either going to be an asset or an enemy, and believe me, you don't want me as an enemy. That's why you're doing this. That's why I'm not already six feet under or holed up in some God-forsaken prison because I'm too _volatile_."

"Okay," Dr. Banner interjected. "I think we've established the fact that SHIELD is willing to cut Gale a deal. Can we focus on the matter at hand?"

"How many times do I have to say this? I _am_ the matter at hand." I widened my eyes, realizing something. "I just got major deja-vu. Didn't we have, like, this exact conversation when I woke up first?"

"Do you want the deal or not?" Fury cut to the chase.

I thought about it in my head. "I've got a couple more things I want to add."

"You're not in any position to be negotiating-" Barton started.

"First off," I ignored Barton. "I want these cuffs off. Second, when you move me to wherever I'm going, I want there to be windows. I need to be able to see the sky, and the outside world. Not some metal room with a cot. And third of all, I want a guitar."

"The cuffs aren't going away," Fury glared at me. "They're everybody's safety."

"So then take away those annoying beeps and the system that gives me a shock each time I get close to using my powers," I snapped. "It's a heck of a way to say 'here, this helps' when I get _electrocuted_ each time I get a whiff of fresh air. You can keep the heart rate monitor if you want to- that'll give you something to go on if I get too angry or worked up again."

Fury mulled it over. "That's doable. And you won't have to worry about windows. We're moving you to a secure but well-lit building."

"And a guitar?" Barton said skeptically.

"I had to make a living somehow. What do you think I was doing before you shot me?" I threw up my hands. "Singing Kumbaya with terrorists?"

"Fine," Fury relented. "We'll get you a guitar from a music store and bring it to your new home."

"Nuh-uh," I shook my head. "I'm picking it out myself. You can't just buy any old instrument and expect it to be perfect for everybody."

"Then we'll get a bunch of them, you can pick one, and then we'll return the rest," Barton offered.

"Hmph. That's better, even though it came from Falconeye over there," I mused.

" _Hawk_ eye," Barton grumbled. "It's Hawkeye."

"Whatever you say, Pidgeonbutt," I waved dismissively at him. "So are we clear? No more shocks from the cuffs, lots of windows and open spaces, and my pick of guitar."

Fury sighed. "Gale, I do believe you're the first person to negotiate a deal with us when you have absolutely nothing to offer in return."

"Well," I sad with a grin. "I haven't told you whether or not you're right about me being Russian."

The three men looked at me in surprise. "So you're not?" Dr. Banner frowned.

"I guess you _are_ agreeing to my terms," I stood up and stretched my arms above my head, cracking my back. "So I'll tell you: yes, I was born in Russia. But that's all you're getting."

"Great," Barton muttered. "Just when I thought Natasha was the only Russian female I'd have to deal with."

Just then, the agent who had been ordered to get the tray of coffees came back. He set it down on the conference table and quickly hurried back to his station, casting me a nervous glance. Just for the sake of it, I gave him a little wave and a wicked grin.

"Ah, yes, coffee," Barton reached forward and snagged a steaming paper cup. Dr. Banner took one too, both men enjoying their caffeinated beverages.

"And I'm just gonna..." I muttered as I grabbed a cup of coffee. "God knows its too early to deal with SHIELD sober." Then I frowned as I noticed that something was missing. "Oh, no, come on," I groaned.

I stood up and walked all the way down the mini flight of stairs to where all of the agents were working, and located the agent who brought the coffee. Tapping him on the shoulder, I put my fists on my hips as he turned around.

"Where the heck is my croissant?" I demanded. The poor agent looked terrified. 

"I- the Director-"

"Asked for coffee," I said. "And I asked for a croissant, some ham, and a slice of mozzarella."

The agents around us were starting to scoot their chairs away, avoiding my glare.

"But- we're not supposed to-" the guy stuttered.

"I don't care what and what not you're supposed to do," I said angrily. "I wanted to make a little croissant sandwich and now- oh my sweet God is that Galaga?" I instantly dropped my scary mode when I saw what was on the agent's screen.

"Um- yeah-" The agent said nervously.

"There's a secret level right here," I leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the screen. "Avoid the aliens- no, you idiot, shoot! Shoot them!"

The agent grabbed the controls and quickly destroyed all attackers. "So where's the secret level?"

"You go right through- yeah, you got it. Okay, so now if you defeat all ten waves and then the big bad at the end, you've earned legend status," I told him. "I'm Gale, by the way. Been here for maybe over a month."

The agent's eyes were rooted to the screen, like mine. "James Goodhue. Got here about ten weeks ago."

"Have we met before? I feel like I've seen your face," I frowned, both of us still staring at the pixelated ships.

"You broke my arm in New York. I was on Hill's team that was supposed to bring you in that night." James said, voice tense with concentration.

"Oh yeah? Wait- no- aim for that guy, yeah, there you go," I advised him. "And sorry for that. Turns out I don't like being shot at."

"Hey! Featherweight!" Barton called down from the conference table. I dropped my head back and let out an exasperated groan.

"Whyyyyy do you exiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiist?" I let out loudly.

"Gale, could you just come back up here?" Dr. Banner sighed.

"Fine. Party poopers," I huffed. "Well, Goodhue, hope you beat the boss. Good luck." I trotted back to the conference table, where Fury was glaring at me.

"What?" I asked. "You want me to talk and then complain when I get social? Make up your mind, teenage princess"

"Do you want to leave this facility or not?" Fury said in a no-nonsense tone.

"Well, let me see," I put a finger on my chin. "Seeing as the only things I've got in that cage are the clothes I'm wearing, and I haven't been able to get my stuff from the dumpster I lived in- I guess I _am_ ready to leave."

"Great-" Fury started.

"Oh my _God_!" I slapped my hand down on the glass table. "Croissant! _Croissant_ , Goodhue!" I hollered at the agent, who was still playing Galaga. I turned back to Fury. "I'm taking Goodhue with me. This coffee is too good to say otherwise."

To my surprise, Goodhue actually paused his game and stood up. "I've finished all of my work for today, sir. I can go."

"Sit _down_ , Agent Goodhue," Fury ordered.

"A valiant effort," I nodded to Goodhue. "I shall remember your battle with honor and dignity."

"And stop playing Galaga!" Fury called at the agent after he sat back down.

"So..." I drummed my fingers on the table. "When we leaving? Actually, when do we check off the first of my terms?" I wiggled my hands so that the cuffs shone under the lights.

"Barton," Fury said.

Barton reluctantly took out the box that was linked to the cuffs- remember the whole 'me being dragged through the Helicarrier' fiasco? He fiddled with a couple of buttons, frowning and muttering to himself.

"I'm not an engineer-" Barton scowled at the box. "But you know what- I'm just gonna-" He pulled out an arrow and stabbed the box with it. Electricity rattled across the box's surface, and I felt a sharp zing from my cuffs as they began to smoke and give off sparks.

"Oi! I'm still wearing these things! Watch it!" I yelped, holding the cuffs away from the rest of my body.

"That's one way to do it," Dr. Banner stared at Barton.

"Now? Can we go now?" I whined. "Let's get breakfast on the way." Without even trying to, the empty coffee tray slowly wobbled upwards, hovering a couple of inches above the surface of the table. "Ugh," I groaned. "That'll stop in a minute or so."

Quick as a flash, Barton waved his hand underneath it, seeing if it was really floating.

"Dude," I deadpanned. "No, there's no strings are anything."

"But I can feel the air moving," Barton said. "Are there little pumps under the table or what?"

"Birdbrain!" I snapped my fingers in front of his face. The coffee tray clattered to the table, Barton drawing his hand back just in time. "I control the wind. Wind is air that moves, you dumb-"

"Barton, stop messing around," Fury ordered. I snickered, and then Fury turned to me. "Gale, stop antagonizing him. And Dr. Banner-"

Dr. Banner looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"The new shipment of lab equipment came in last night. You can go make sure everything's satisfactory while I take care of these two children." Fury said.

"Oh." Dr. Banner sighed with relief.

"If you'll follow me, both of you," Fury began walking towards the hallway.

"Why both of us?" Barton frowned. But he got up from his seat regardless, and I was already following Fury.

"Because I'm making you her observation detail, Barton," Fury said. All three of us entered the hallway, and I had to quicken my pace in order to keep up with the men who had unnecessarily long legs.

"What?!" Barton cried.

I smirked. "Guess Fury didn't tell you about that." Then I realized what he said. "Wait, him?!"

"Ever heard of the bore table?" Fury asked us as we entered a gigantic hangar. I stumbled over the cold metal ground as I twisted my head from side to side, trying to take everything in. Ships- jets and fighters of every conceivable shape and size littered the hangar. Dozens of agents were scurrying back and forth, fixing the ships, wheeling carts of equipment from place to place, and basically resembling a hive of, well, busy bees.

"What..." I exhaled, my eyes as wide as saucers.

"The bore table," Fury repeated. Barton noticed my staring and snickered, which made me quit looking around and scowl with him.

"Never heard of it, sir," Barton said, and stuck his tongue out at me.

"It's where you put all of the really boring people at an event. That way, they all bore each other to death and not any of the other, more _entertaining_ guests. I'm putting the biggest pains in my butt together so I'll get some work done and you guys can wear each other down." Fury smirked to himself.

"That's insulting," I shook my finger at Fury's back. "I'll have you know I'm a _joy_ to be around."

"Mm-hm," Fury nodded. "Sure."

"And me?" Barton added. "Really?"

"You've been irritating ever since I put you on Gale's case. 'Gale this, Gale that, Gale makes the vents in Stark Towers blow freezing cold air whenever I'm up there'."

I pumped a fist to myself. Mission success.

Fury led us to one of SHIELD's fancy jets that had the back open. I walked inside, avoiding the rough patches on the floor that were meant for friction control. Bare feet plus those equaled blisters. "Okay, so I guess we're gonna make a pit stop on our way to this next conveniently undisclosed location, right? Because I need more clothes than the ones I'm wearing right now. And the shoes you guys gave me suck. They fell apart after three days."

"That's because you threw them at the walls every time you got angry or bored," Barton reminded me as he walked up into the cockpit.

"Trust me, Gale, you won't need to make a pit stop. Where you're going, you'll just order everything on Stark's card," Fury chuckled to himself. "And I'd strap myself in if I were you. Even though you can fly, it's gonna be a bumpy ride."

With that, the director turned around and walked away from the jet, signaling to an agent who began clearing the runway for us. 

"Wait, Stark's card?" I hollered after Fury, who didn't even acknowledge me. "Hey, Drama Queen! What do you mean, Stark's card?"

"Have fun, Gale! You might as well enjoy it while it lasts," Fury called back.

"Fury?" I cried. "Answer me you utter idiot!"

"Good _bye_ , Gale."

"FURY!"


	11. I weigh only slightly more than your average sack of ungrateful potatoes

Author's Note: I just want to say thanks to all you lovely readers! Your comments are very positive and honestly I love hearing what you guys have to say about this story. Also, I know that some of the chapters are really short, so I decided to concentrate my sarcastic resources into this chapter just for you guys. Yes, it's long. Yes, it's just Gale and Barton. And yes, there will be more chapters like this to come :).

"Wonderful." I rolled my eyes. "A personal flight with nobody but my arch nemesis," I groaned as the door to the back of the jet closed.

"Seriously? Arch nemesis?" Barton called from the pilot's seat. I turned around and saw him buckling his seat belt, a head piece-microphone thingie already on his head. Hey, my technical knowledge extended to finding the power button on a computer. "People don't have arch nemesises. Arch nemesi. Whatever."

"Oh, no, I know plenty of people with an arch nemesis," I nodded. "You should be honored to be mine. It's a very prestigious position. Don't worry, I'll grant you a truly spectacular demise."

"You can try," Barton replied. "And seriously- Fury's right. You're gonna want to take a seat."

"I prefer to remain standing," I turned up my nose, even though Barton couldn't see it. "That way, I can deal with unsuspected and sudden threats such as-"

The jet lurched upward harshly, sending me tumbling to the ground. "Oh," I groaned. "That's gonna leave a mark."

I could see Barton's grin in the reflection of the front window. "Hey!" I yelled. "Not cool!"

"Take a seat, pipsqueak." Barton laughed at my misery. "It's gonna be eight hours 'till we get there. Might as well spare yourself from any more... unsuspected and sudden threats."

I grumbled a reply detailing exactly where Barton could shove those threats, but took a seat anyways. Frowning as I looked at the maze of straps and buckles, I tried to follow where they were supposed to go, but just ended up confusing myself.

The jet slowly lifted into the air, and through the glass at the front of the aircraft, I could see us passing above the hangar ceiling. Leaning forward in my seat, which was about halfway in the row of them pressed against the side of the jet, I peered out at the sky.

The sun had risen, and it was clearly mid-morning by now. I almost smiled as I spotted a cloud that looked a bit like a goat. Huh. A goat. _Kozel_ , in my first language.

"Grab onto something, featherweight. Don't want you floating out of the jet," Barton called back from the pilot's seat.

I had just enough time to wrap my hands around the tangles of straps before the jet kicked the engines and rocketed ahead. My head snapped to the side as my body lurched that direction, and I felt the jet angling up.

"Is this really necessary?" I managed to choke out.

Barton laughed, and yanked on the controls. The jet barrel-rolled, throwing my up and then down harshly, and when it stopped spinning, I felt Barton going for a loop-de-loop.

"Too bad Bruce isn't here," Barton's voice crackled on the overhead speakers. "You could guilt-trip him into making me stop."

"Would you listen to him?" I threw back. I yelped as the jet turned completely upside-down, and I was left dangling from my precious grip on the quite slick seat belt.

"Nope," Barton said cheerfully as he righted the jet, and sent me crashing back to the floor. The jet slowed to a much more reasonable speed.

I groaned from where I was lying down. "I sure hope that didn't re-crack my ribs."

"Wait-" Barton twisted in his seat and looked back at me. "Jeez, kid, when Fury tells you to take a seat and then _I_ tell you to hang onto something, _you take a seat and hold onto something_."

"The stupid seat belt is basically a straight jacket," I grumbled, picking myself up from the floor. "And if I had some warning-"

"Refer to my previous sentence," Barton interrupted.

"And for God's sake, just don't-" I broke off as my bandaged forearms bumped against the metal floor. I could see a pinprick or two of red on the white surface- the cuts must've broken open.

"And now you did that," Barton threw up his hands.

"It's not my fault those monkey suits are so dang complicated!" I snapped.

"You know what? Fine." Barton turned on the autopilot on the jet, and walked back to me.

"What in the name of God do you think you're doing?" I squinted my eyes at him. Even when I was standing (and maybe cheating with my tip-toes), Barton still towered a good foot and probably more above me.

"Dealing with a child, apparently." Barton reached out towards me. I danced backwards a couple of steps.

"Whoa, hold up," I held up my hands in defense. "No touchy."

"Kid, you're gonna screw everything up. You're gonna break your arm on the cargo net or stick your tongue in the electrical control panel," Barton rolled his eyes. "And, quite unfortunately, part of observation detail is making sure that you don't get hurt. Believe me, I'll chuck you off of this Quinn Jet the second I can."

"Duly noted," I eyed him warily. "But no touchy."

"For the love of-" Barton sighed. He suddenly reached out again, and even though I ran backwards- well, it was a jet. I ran into the back wall. Barton grabbed my waist and threw my over his shoulder, despite me thrashing my limbs about.

"Hey! Let me down you stupid son of a gun!" I cried as I pounded my fists on his back.

"Not a chance, pipsqueak," Barton chuckled. "And keep it up. Maybe it'll move past the tickling phase to actually hurting. Also, how much do you eat? It's like carrying a backpack. An empty backpack."

Barton carried me over to the cockpit and threw me down in the co-pilot's seat. Using one hand on my gut, he grabbed one of the harness buckles with the other hand and began to fasten it.

"I am not some sack of potatoes to be thrown about will-nilly!" I exclaimed as I tried to punch him again. Barton looked about as interested as some husband attending his spouse's book club. "Oh," I groaned as I realized what I said. "Not potatoes again!"

Barton took advantage of my momentary distraction to attach that part of the harness. 'Just- hold still-" he grunted as he snatched other seat belts and straps and snapped them into little buckles that I couldn't see.

"No! Leave me alone!" I hollered, and walloped Barton right across the face.

I don't know who was more surprised- him or me. Barton stared at me and I stared back. I could already see a red mark forming across the bridge of his nose.

"Take that," I said weakly.

"Yeah, I'm not dealing with this," Barton stepped back and rifled through his pockets for something. While he was doing that, I worked on the harness buckles, trying to get them to disengage, when suddenly my wrists snapped together.

"Wait- what the-" I frowned, trying to separate my hands. "The cuffs-" I glared at Barton. "What about my terms?!"

Barton smirked as he wiggled the box that came with my cuffs. "You said no electric shocks. Not 'no other features'."

"Oh," I curled my lip at him. "I'm gonna rip you to shreds-"

"Yeah, yeah," Barton said in a bored tone as he strapped in the rest of the harness. Even though I was down a set of opposable thumbs and eight other fingers, I did try to fight back. It's just that Barton had about a hundred pounds on me, most likely more.

So two minutes later, I was sitting in the copilot's seat, with twenty dozen seat belts and harnesses running every which way across me. If a freight train hit this thing, I wouldn't move an inch. Of course, that leads to the question as to _how_ a freight train would get up several thousand feet in the sky, but I'm not one for details.

"Finally," Barton said as he eased back into the pilot's seat. "This shouldn't be too bad."

"I'm going to kill you," I said monotonously.

"Sure thing," the man took the controls back from the autopilot and calmly began steering this thing.

"Your kidney and spleen will me speared upon the tip of the Statue of Liberty's crown."

"Wonderful."

"Your legs will be hanging off the Great Wall of China."

"Always wanted to see that."

"Your eyes will be at the bottom of the Grand Canyon."

"Get me a postcard."

"And your skeletal system will adorn the Eiffel Tower."

"Ah, _Paris en été_. Versailles's gorgeous this time of year, you know."

I tried crossing my arms, which didn't work because the stupid cuffs were still locked together. Groaning, I leaned my head back against the seat and kicked my legs back and forth.

"How much longer?" I asked.

"Well, since it's eight hours from the Helicarrier," Barton checked his watch. "We have... seven hours and fifty-three minutes left to go."

"Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy," I drew the word out as long as I could.

"You know, I do have duct tape. I'm sure we can institute some peace and quiet in here as well," Barton offered.

I mimed zipping my lips shut and locking them, though some of it was lost due to the fact that my hands were bound.

"Ah, it's a perfect day for a flight," Barton remarked.

I hummed a bit in agreement, before I realized what I was doing. Barton looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"Okay," I said. "In my defense, I'm allowed to appreciate this kind of weather."

"Right," Barton nodded. "You like flying."

"Oh my- you know what? I'm not even gonna go there." I shook my head. "It's not that I just _like_ flying, it's..."

"What?" Barton asked, after I was silent for a moment.

"The only flying you've ever done is with a jet, I'll wager," I told him. "Trying to explain it to you would be like teaching astrophysics to a monkey."

"Well, take a look at Tony Stark," Barton shrugged.

I couldn't help it. I let out a tiny laugh. "Honestly, you humans... always believing that you're the one to break the mold, that you're special, that you're the next person to take 'one giant leap for mankind'."

"Why do you say 'you humans'? Aren't you human?" Barton asked.

The easy laugh I had been wearing slid off my face. I stared straight ahead, at the perfect sky with the perfect clouds with prefect wind that I had to enjoy from behind two panes of reinforced glass.

"You _are_ human, right?" Barton frowned at me. "Because the aliens I've met haven't exactly helped the world before."

"Take a poll," I said monotonously. "Tell the world about everything that I've done. Tell them _exactly_ who I am. Then see how many of them would still be happy to call me _human_."

An awkward silence fell after that. Well, maybe awkward for Barton. I was so used to awkward silences that the awkwardness eventually faded out. Not-awkward silences were kinda awkward for me now. Hey, you never know if someone's got a gun in their waistband or putting poison in your cup. If somebody's actually having _fun_ at a dinner party, then you know something's up.

About ten minutes passed before either of us did anything.

"So you a cat person?" Barton suddenly asked.

"Excuse me?" I paused in the middle of trying to scratch my nose.

"Cats," Barton repeated, eyes fixed on the horizon. "You seem like you like cats."

"And why in the nine realms would you think that?" I managed to maneuver my hands up to my face and began itching my nose.

"Cats are snobbish. They hate people. Also, they claw your face off when you try to feed them or pet them or really do anything nice for them."

I snorted. "Since when has anybody done anything nice for me?"

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

I gave him an incredulous look. "You mean forcibly capturing me, electrocuting me, breaking my leg, putting me on house arrest and then kidnapping me again? Not to mention the cage. Man, it's been _ages_ since I was treated like an animal. Gotta say, you did a bang up job of it."

"It's not our fault you used your powers in a public area!" Barton defended.

"Oh, silly me, I should've just let the boy fall to his death," I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry. Next time, I'll just watch innocent children die without lifting a finger."

"You got on a military radar because you were _flying_ around New York every week at night. I don't see any life threatening situations there."

I threw my hands up in the air- or tried to to. I probably looked like I was punching myself in the face, though. "Once again, with the flying!" I sighed. "Look, if you could fly- without a jet or one of Stark's suits- wouldn't you?" I looked over at Barton. "Why do humans do anything? Why do you humans drive places, go to bars, have fun? Why do you do any of it?"

"Because we like to," Barton said in a no-duh tone.

"No," I corrected him. "Because you can. Most of the things that people do are done because they _can_ be done. Why climb to the top of Mt. Everest? Because it's there. Why go to the moon? Because you can. Why fall in love? Because it's an option."

I rubbed my face tiredly. "Why do I fly? Because I can. Because the sky is an option for me."

Barton was quiet. Then-

"So you don't like cats?"

I groaned. "I'm gonna kill you, Birdbrain."

"We've already established that fact, pipsqueak. You can try."

I exhaled through my nose, and gently rested my head back. God, I had been awake ever since the lake dream last night- and now I was just hungry and tired. But did I trust Barton enough to fall asleep six feet away from him? Definitely not. And after the lake dream... there were always the nightmares. So that left sleep out of the list. But we had seven and a half hours left to go. The only option left to distract me was... small talk.

"Dogs," I said simply.

"What?" Barton frowned.

"I'm not a cat person," I elaborated. "I like dogs."

"Really?" Barton asked.

I nodded, staring at the clouds. "I had a pair of Rottweilers when I was younger. They were supposed to be guard dogs- they got a hold of the mail man once. Everybody was terrified that I'd tease them and lose a couple of limbs." I chuckled to myself. "I ended up riding them to school each day- and in the winter I hooked up an old wooden box to them and full on mush'd my way around town."

"Hmph," Barton remarked offhandedly.

"Of course," I added. "I think you'd be a dog, if you were an animal."

"Why?"

"You make me think of a Chihuahua. Tiny, annoying, always running around and making a nuisance of yourself."

"Well, that makes you a- a..." Barton stuttered.

"Yes?" I asked him innocently.

"Shut up," he muttered underneath his breath. I smirked.

"Also," I spoke up again. "Why can't I unbuckle this stupid harness-"

Barton pointed to a button on his side of the cockpit, grinning. 'SEAT BELT SAFETY LOCK', it read.

"I'm not a child," I grumbled.

"Oh, but it all works out if I treat you as one," Barton chuckled.

"So you've dealt with children before?" I raised an eyebrow.

The man was silent for a beat. "Yeah," he shrugged. "I've run into a few."

"You're an idiot, you know that?" I remarked. "I can use my superpowers and undo all of this. You ever seen something get cut clean in half by the wind?"

Barton just laughed. "Pipsqueak, if you could do that you would've done it half an hour ago."

"Don't tempt me," I warned me. "I can burn your eyebrows off with a good south wind."

Barton put on the autopilot again, and swiveled in his seat so he could face me. "See," he said with this big stupid grin on his face. "You can't."

I opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off.

"The coffee tray, back at the Helicarrier," Barton reminded me. "It just- fwoosh-" he made a weird motion with his hands. "I saw you. You weren't trying to do that. And you haven't actually _used_ your powers in at least two weeks. I figure it's like running, or archery, or anything physical. You haven't stretched, haven't warmed up in so long that your powers are on the fritz. You," he pointed to me, "have lost your touch."

"Oh really?" I pursed my lips. "Okay. You know what- I'll show you." I let my head rest forward and focused on the horizon, a good neutral point.

Okay, come on. I thought about the wind, concentrated on it, tried to visualize it. I tried to recreate the feeling, the cold in my veins, the sensation that the wind was creeping past my skin and into my very soul. Something big, I thought. Something that would show this arrogant jerk who's boss.

The 'FASTEN SEAT BELTS' sign clicked on overhead. 

Barton set his elbows on his knees and propped his head up on his fists. "Aw," he smiled. "You're so adorable. It's like watching a puppy trying to catch its own tail."

I lunged to the side at him, fighting against the harness. "I'm gonna-"

"Kill me?" Barton guessed. He stood up and lazily stretched his arms above his head. "You've only said it a hundred times." Barton began walking to the back of the jet, out of my vision. "Like I said, kid: you've lost your touch."

"Let me out of this stupid thing!" I called back, trying to look behind my seat.

"Why? So I can put you in time-out again?" Barton replied from far behind me.

"I AM NOT A CHILD!" I yelled.

"Whoa, someone just lost their ice-cream priviledges."

"YOU SELF-CENTERED IGNORANT IDIOTIC BRAINDEAD-"

"Was Sesame Street cancelled again?"

"I WILL DESTROY YOU! I SHOULD STRIKE FEAR INTO YOUR HEART!"

"Maybe Nat will have some crayons for you to play with once we see her again."

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU'RE DEALING WITH!"

"I think I've got a juice box back here. Want one?"

"ARGH!"

"Use your words, kid. Healthy methods of self-expression. Think about rainbows and sunshine and My Little Pony."

I forced myself to take a deep breath in, focusing on control. Control was everything. I just needed to caaaaaaaaalm down and-

The obnoxious crinkled sound of plastic packaging broke my concentration. Looking to my left, I saw Barton walking back up into the cockpilot, a bag of beef jerky in his hands.

"Really?" I snapped.

"It's good," Barton said through a mouthful of jerky. "Want one?" He tossed a piece into my lap.

I glared at him. "Hey," Barton held up his hands. "It's not poisoned. I'm classier than that."

"Classy? You?" I snorted, but eyes the piece of jerky. I was kinda hungry... and if it was poisoned then at least I wouldn't have to deal with Barton anymore... So I awkwardly picked it up with my bound hands, and gnawed off a bit of it.

"Tastes like bacon," I remarked, and bit off another piece. "Why would you flavor meat to make it taste like other meat?"

"Because double the meat equals double the awesomeness," Barton replied, kicking his feet up on the console and chewing with his mouth open. I closed my eyes and tried not comment on that obvious lack of manners.

Smack, smack, chomp, chomp, smack.

I could tell Barton was doing it _just_ to annoy me. And it was working.

Chomp, smack, chomp, chomp, smack, smack-

A piece of jerky flew up from the bag and whacked Barton in the face. "Hey!" He cried, shooting a glare at me.

I smirked ahead. Losing my touch, huh? Good to know that my powers relied on emotion and not practice. "That's what you get for patronizing me."

"You're a little snot-nosed brat, you know that?" Barton rubbed his forehead.

"This snot-nosed little brat just hit you in the face with a piece of jerky with her superpowers," I reminded him smugly. "What are your powers, again?"

"That was low," Barton pointed at me.

"So is your IQ," I shot back.

"Do I have to stab you with an electric arrow to get you to shut up?"

"Jeez, fine, old man."

"Old man?!"

"If I'm a kid, then you're ancient."

"I have my quiver right here, you know."

"Suuuuuuuuuuuure."

"Well, looky here at this strange contraption right within arm's reach-"

"Okay, I take that back. That really _is_ an electric arrow."

"See? Now shut up."

Silence.

"You're such a grumpy old grandpa."

"Can you just let me fly this thing in peace?"

"Somebody switch out your prune juice for Sprite- God, get that thing away from me!"

"I told you I wasn't joking!"

"It's throwing off sparks! How is that not a fire hazard?!"

"It's allowed everywhere I go! It's part of my arsenal!"

"How many times have you shot yourself in the foot?"

"I'm a master at archery!"

"Yeah, Legolas, keep telling yourself that."

"I am not an elf!"

"Right, your hair isn't _nearly_ as perfect."

"My hair is fine!"

"Is that a bit of jerky I see, matted to your hair with some blood?"

"I was on a mission yesterday!"

"Was that mission finding you some dignity?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"So the mission failed."

"You're such a brat."

"Says you, grandpa."

"Why you little-"

" _I TOLD YOU TO GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!"_

Author's Note (Edit): Okay, thanks to all you guys for catching the repeat. No, I did not intend for the first part to repeat itself- it must've been a processing/saving error. So thanks! I fixed it! (I hope)


	12. Sandwiches, dreams, and a really angry homeless teenager

The jet ride was pure torture.

I think that I was actually killed when I was shot from the sky so many weeks ago. I was dead. And meeting Barton was my Hell. It was that bad.

I ended up singing five hundred bottles of vodka on the wall. That lasted only so long. Then I began kicking my legs back against the seat. I had to stop after I suspected my leg was going to break again. And _then_ I finally had the wit to ask Barton where we were going, but he laughed at me and refused to spill. So that left me in a big pile of schist.

"Pochemu eto tak dolgo?" I asked Barton.

"Sorry kid, but my Russian's a bit rusty," Barton replied, bored.

"Ty idiot."

"Okay, it's not _that_ rusty."

"My uzhe na meste?"

"I told you, my Russian's barely past mediocre."

"Tsifry," I muttered.

"Yeah, whatever, pipsqueak."

I blew a strand of hair out of my face. " _You know,_ " I said in Russian. I could tell Barton was already tuning me out. " _I don't really hate people on principle, but I'm making an exception for you. I don't know how either of us is going to make it through this 'observation detail' thing unscathed._ " Sighing, I leaned my head back. " _I just want to be home. The Russian sage would be blooming right now... and Mama would be trying to get the lavender to grow back from where it shrunk in the winter. God, she loved her garden. It didn't matter that the winter would try to kill every flower she had- she'd just ask the sunlight to keep her plants warm. And when spring came, the snow would melt and the flowers would still be standing."_

Barton's eyes flickered over to me, but he of course had no idea what I was saying. I was talking for the sake of talking, to say my thoughts out loud as if the world would contradict me if they were wrong.

" _I should plant a garden_ ," I mused. " _Peonies, poppies, marigolds- all of the ones that Mama had. And the asters and Russian sage and Lavender and daisies. Mama loved color, 'cause she was full of light and hues. I guess it just skipped a generation._ "

"You hungry?" Barton suddenly asked.

"Pochemu ty-" I snapped out of Russian. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, breakfast as I recall was a cup of coffee and not much else."

I raised an eyebrow. "I had the piece of jerky that you threw at me two hours ago."

"Yeah, and now it's lunch time." Barton stood up and walked to the back of the jet, the jet controls still on autopilot. "I've got sandwiches, I think."

"You think?" I repeated. Sighing, I shook my head. "Nevermind. I'll just sit here, seeing as I can't do anything else with-"

The cuffs suddenly deactivated and released my hands from their proximity. "Finally!" I cheered. "Wait, what?"

A sandwich in a baggie came sailing over the top of my seat. Reaching up, I grabbed it before it could rebound off the console and smack me in the face. Which, seeing as this is a master marksman that threw it, it probably would. In fact, my face was most likely the intended target all along.

"Unfortunately, being observation detail means making sure you don't starve to death," Barton sighed as he trudged back up to his seat. "And Fury would fire me if I let that happen. Honestly, it's a tough decision."

"I'm a fifteen year-old girl," I reminded him. "I'll sue you for child abuse."

"How?" Barton snorted. "Starved to death means you're dead."

"I'll just come back from the grave and haunt your butt," I sniffed delicately. I started to unwrap the sandwich, my hunger taking over.

"Psh, like that's possible- wait, is it? 'Cause of your powers and all of that?" Barotn paused.

I smirked evilly. 

"Brat," Barton muttered.

"It's funny how those four letters make up sixty percent of your name," I commented.

"Ugh," Barton groaned. "Why can't I just kill you right now?"

"Because I'm legally a minor and your job is to save all priviledged humans," I said. "Is this mozzarella?"

"And ham," Barton added, taking a bit of his own sandwich. "At least, I think that one is. Mine's... pepperjack and beef."

"M-hm," I nodded, chewing a bit of the sandwich. "Not bad. Who'd you pay to make it?"

"Is it so unbelievable that I might be good at making food?" Barton rolled his eyes.

"Do you really want me to answer that question-"

"Shut up."

"Zatknis'."

"What are you saying?"

"O chem ty govorish'?"

"Are you just copying me?"

"Vy menya prosto kopiruyete?"

"I hate you."

"Ya nenavizhu tebya."

Barton glared at me and took a big bite of his sandwich. Staring back, I did the same.

"Could you be more annoying?"

"Ne mogli by vy byt' boleye razdrazhayushchimi?" I paused for a second. "Da."

"I'm going to kill you," Barton set down his sandwich and turned forwards in his seat. "And I don't care what Fury does."

"Vozmozhno, vam stoit podumat' o drugoy kar'yere," I suggested between mouthfuls of this frankly delicious sandwich. "Vozmozhno, upravleniye gnevom."

"God, English please!" Barton threw his hands in the air.

"Perhaps you should think about other careers," I repeated. "Maybe anger management."

Barton released a growl of rage and made throttling motions with his hands towards me.

"Unless that means something else in sign language, I'm going to say that you're angry."

Barton began banging his head back against the top of his seat. "Five hours," he said. "It's not even halfway through yet."

"Do you think this is Hell?" I asked him, still fixated on my excellent sandwich. "Like, you're my demon punisher come to make me regret all my sins?"

"If anything, the demon punisher is you," Barton groaned. "I've never been so exasperated in my life."

I tilted my head. "Three nights on a freezing rooftop in Siberia says otherwise."

"What?" Barton frowned.

"I can't bet with money," I said in a no-duh tone. "I was homeless. Still am, actually. So I'm betting with something much more entertaining."

"You know," Barton groaned. "I think you're losing this bet."

"Oh really, you moronic-" I paused. "Oh. I see what you're doing."

"Finally," Barton sighed. "Just be quiet."

Everything was silent for a moment.

"FIVE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF VODKA ON THE WALL!" I belted at the top of my lungs. "FIVE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF VODKA!"

"THAT'S IT!" Barton hollered and stomped to the back of the jet once more.

"YOU TAKE ONE DOWN, PASS IT AROUND!"

"I WILL MURDER YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!"

"FOUR HUNDRED NINETY NINE BOTTLES OF VODKA ON THE WALL!"

"I'M A PROFFESIONAL ASSASSIN! I KILL PEOPLE FOR A LIVING!"

"AND ONE BARELY BUZZED RUSSIAN!"

"YOU ARE THE ANTICHRIST!"

"FOUR HUNDRED NINETY NINE BOTTLES OF VODKA ON THE WALL! FOUR HUNDRED NINETY-"

Something pricked my left arm- something sharp and cold.

"Hey!" I cried, twisting my head.

Barton stepped back from my seat, a victorious grin on his face. He was holding one of his arrows in his hand, one with a needle on the end instead of a normal arrowhead.

"Fortunately," Barton said. "Observation detail does _not_ include making sure that unforseeable accidents don't occur."

"So you stabbing me with an arrow is an unforsee-" I halted as my vision spun for a moment. Blinking rapidly, I tried again. "Unforsee- unforseeable..."

"Oh, gotta love this babies," Barton looked at the arrow fondly.

Fuzzy spots danced a polka around me. "You... imebecile..." All of a sudden, it took a lot of energy to talk. Maybe I should stop that. I was really tired after all. I should just take a nap... I wouldn't fall out my seat, afterall. This harness stopped that... it was like getting a hug from an inanimate object, so nice and warm...

"Nighty nighty, featherweight," I heard Barton chuckle from somewhere to my left.

My eyes slipped closed before I could even think about what was happening. "Another round, bartender," I heard myself mutter before everything faded to black.

_I was seven years old again, still in my bright red winter boots and my white sweater. But I wasn't at the lake anymore; no, I was in a house. A fancy one at that._

_I was sitting in an ornate armchair near a fireplace large enough to hold a pony. The fire inside was crackling and casting light over the other furnishings in the room: an antique standing desk against the back wall, a worn-in love seat near me, the brass candle holders with falcons emblazoned on them nailed to the wood-paneled walls. The fire was the only light in this room, though through the door to my right I could see the lights turned on._

_Mama and the stranger- Alexei, I corrected myself- were talking in that room, in the servants' kitchen. Pale tiles and gleaming countertops shone in there, and even though we had only two formal servants, Papa's butler and Mama's maid, the kitchen was almost always occupied. Mama and I ate lunch in there in the winter, talking for hours on end about the herb garden you could see from the windows. Papa sometimes talked with Nikolai- the butler- in there. I played with Sputnik and Cosmo on the floor in the kitchen. The guards drank there, the maid sewed there._

_The kitchen was always home to anybody who stumbled into it. It was a sanctuary, a cozy room that seemed like a world apart from the rest of the house._

_I managed to yank off my boots, and got up to place them by the fire. The heat was more intense here, so I took off my sweater too and let it dry on the racks near the fireplace. Sitting down on the cobblestone hearth place, I watched the fire dance and spin back and forth, throwing up embers that shone and fizzled out in an instant._

_"Careful, my little girl," Papa's voice came from behind me. I turned around around saw him walking silently towards me. Papa sat down besides me, bending his knees up. He set down a gold-rimmed crystal cup down on the hearth, one that was half-full with an amber liquid. The smell of whiskey threaded through the air._

_"Hello, Papa," I replied in my native Russian, smiling at him. Papa's colorless eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled back._

_"Remember, it's your mother who plays with fire, not you," he told me._

_"Yes, Papa. I know. And you play with stone and earth," I added._

_Papa sighed. "Do you know who that man is?" He tilted his head towards the kitchen, where Mama was handing Alexei a mug of hot chocolate._

_"He is Alexei," I answered. "That's what he told me."_

_Papa looked like he was thinking about something unpleassant. "You shouldn't believe everything he says, Gale."_

_"Why not, Papa?" I frowned._

_"He is not who he seems," Papa replied. "And I do not wish to see you hurt by him."_

_"Yes, Papa," I said. Papa smiled again at me and playfully ruffled my hair._

_"You are sure you're alright? That was a nasty fall you took into the lake this afternoon."_

_"I'm fine, Papa," I giggled. "See? My наследие still works."_

_I focused on my hands as I brought them up to my chest, palms facing inwards. Papa's words echoed in my head- control is everything. Control your breathing, control your mind, then control your surroundings._

_The fire shifted. It leaned towards us, the flames licking dangerously close to me._

_"Gale," Pap warned._

_Then, suddenly, the air between my hands spun and twisted. The threads of the wind became visible- glowing strands of silver, of pure moonlight._

_"See?" I smiled, and slowly pulled my hands back. The strings stretched tight, resembling a gleaming spider web. I could feel the wind rushing through those threads, over my fingers, across my palms, and back into the loop again._

_"Did Mama teach you that trick?" Papa asked me, both of us staring at the tangled web of silver wind._

_"No," I replied softly. I could feel Papa tensen beside me, but I didn't think much of it. "I was outside last night with Sputnik and Cosmo and they ran into the cobwebs under the trees. And I was pulling them out of their hair and then they were shining under the moon and I thought about making that for myself. And I did what you told me to! To control myself, and then my surroundings."_

_"All by yourself," Papa repeated. I nodded happily._

_Just then, a bright peal of laughter made our heads snap to the right. In the kitchen, Mama was laughing hard and holding her sides, while Alexei made wild gestures with his hands._

_"No, that really happened!" Alexei was saying. "All of the cupcakes! Every single one of them exploded!"_

_"A-Alexei!" Mama choked out between bursts of giggles._

_I felt a grin pull at my own face, because when Mama was happy everybody was happy too. "Papa, how do you know Mister Alexei?"_

_Before Papa could answer, Mama and Alexei walked into the room, still smiling brightly and each holding an extra mug of hot chocolate._

_"Ruslan," Mama spoke. "Why didn't you tell me about that cafe in Madrid?"_

_"Because it was all his fault," Papa grumbled._

_"Oh, you're just sour that you were supposed to flirt with the cashier and she gave me her number!" Alexei grinned._

_"Katerina," Papa started, looking at Mama. "When can Alexei leave?"_

_Mama frowned at Papa. "It's ten at night, Ruslan. His hotel is on the other side of St. Petersburg. And we have more than enough guest rooms to spare. Besides, I think it's good if you two have an opportunity to... talk things over."_

_"Ruslan, despite your beliefs," Alexei said with complete sincerity. "I am not here to steal your wife, your child, or your fortune."_

_Papa let out a frustrated growl and stood up, taking his glass of whiskey with him. "Katerina," he said, anger underlying his deceptively calm tone. "May I have a word with you in the foyer?"_

_Mama sighed but followed Papa out of the room, briefly smiling back at Alexei before they vanished into the hallway. Alexei turned his head and looked at the door before turning back to me and wiggling his silver eyebrows._

_I giggled out loud, and Alexei nodded to himself, smiling. "So," he said, making his way over to me. "Your lovely mother made you some hot chocolate."_

_He sat down a bit away from me, facing me, and handed me one of the steaming mugs._

_"Thank you," I replied politely, and took a sip. Perfect. Just like everything Mama did._

_"I guess you're Gale," Alexei said._

_"Who are you?" I asked._

_Alexei laughed, his silver hair falling into his face. Sweeping a hand back over his head, the man studied me._

_"Didn't Ruslan- your Papa- tell you?" Alexei frowned._

_"He said I shouldn't believe everything you say," I piped up._

_"Did he now?" Alexei raised his eyebrows._

_"But he didn't say I shouldn't tell you that," I added with a tiny grin._

_Alexei smiled. "Oh ho ho! Now I see the family resemblance! Good to know that Ruslan's austere nature hasn't completely rubbed off on you."_

_"Family... resemblance?" I tilted my head, taking another sip of my hot chocolate._

_"Your Papa is my brother," Alexei replied simply._

_"So that makes you..." I thought about it. "Uncle Alexei?"_

_"Yes," Alexei admitted. "But 'Dyadya Alexei' sounds too formal for my taste. 'Alexei' is just fine."_

_"But Papa sad to be polite wherever I go," I frowned again._

_"Yes, but manners will only get you so far," Alexei shifted in his seat so he sat crosslegged. He set his mug down on the stones between us and straightened his back with the air of someone about to share a deep secret. "The real trick is reading between the lines."_

_"But there's nothing between the lines in a book," I stated._

_"That's what most people believe, yes," Alexei held his hands out in front of him as if holding some invisible weight. "But in between the lines of a story lies the greater meaning- which is love, friendship, courage, and laughter."_

_Specks of dirt from the cobblestones began to fly up from the floor, and began to soar in circles around Alexei's hands. "You see, little Sokol, laughter is one of the most precious things in the world."_

_"You're..." I exhaled, staring at the display. "You're like us."_

_"Well, of course!" Alexei said, and snapped his fingers. My boots, my sweater, and even Alexei's mug of hot chocolate began to hover. They lifted up into the air, and as Alexei wiggled his fingers they danced around us like horses on a merry-go-round._

_"I'm your blood uncle, Gale," Alexei let the clothes and the other things fall gently back to their places. "And that means I've got a наследие too."_

_"You belong to the earth circle, like Papa?" I asked._

_"Nope," Alexei shook his head. "You're a smart girl. Why don't you tell me?"_

_"Well," I looked at Alexei- really looked, trying to figure out what his наследие was. "You either used water or air to save me from the lake. Making a hole with the water and making a funnel with the air look the same... so you're not part of the earth or fire circles."_

_"Very good. Anything else?" Alexei encouraged me._

_"You're Papa's brother," I continued. "But you two don't get along very well. And you look like the opposites of each other, and the opposite of earth is air. So you belong to the air circle. You probably control breezes or something."_

_Alexei dipped his head to me. "I must say, I'm very impressed. Most seven year-olds can't piece together information like that."_

_"Papa has me practice," I told Alexei proudly. "So I can tell who's one of us and who isn't. We play games in the city- he takes me out for pretzels or ice cream and we eat on a bench in the park and I have to guess what people do as they walk by."_

_"Really?" Alexei was still smiling, but his voice sounded a bit more tense. I didn't know why, though. "He has you do all that? At your age?"_

_"Papa says I'm gonna be the head of the air circle when I grow up," I grinned. "I'm gonna sit on the council and make all the really big decisions."_

_Alexei was silent for a moment. "I think you're a bit young for that, don't you?"_

_I crossed my arms. "Am not!"_

_Alexei laughed again, but this time it was more subdued. "By the way, Gale..."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"From what your mother was saying, your English seems to be really coming along nicely."_

_I beamed. "Thank you," I said in my accented English. "It- it is- part of... of my... наследие."_

_"Legacy," Alexei said in flawless English. "In English, it's legacy. Plural is legacies. A pretty word, in my opinion."_

_"Oh," I nodded. I switched back to Russian, smiling mishcievoulsy. "Thank you, Alexei. In fact, I thank you so much that I'm going to introduce you to a few of my friends."_

_I twisted back and whistled, a piercing series of notes that seemed to make the candle holders ring on the walls. Alexei had barely enough time to look around before the sounds of nails clacking on tile and wood and stone broke out through the house. A great bark was heard, and then heavy panting, coming nearer._

_Then two dogs burst out from the empty hallway and ran into the room at full speed._

_Alexei didn't even know what hit him- two full sized Rottweilers, each weighing a hundred and twenty pounds. They bowled into Alexei and knocked him clean on his bum, licking his face and slobering all over Alexei's cream colored sweater._

_"Meet Sputnik and Cosmo!" I laughed._

_"I think they're trying to smother me," Alexei gasped, trying valiantly to fend off the dogs._

_"Here boys!" I called. Instantly, Sputnik and Cosmo released Alexei and trotted over to me. I threw my arms around both of their necks, and I felt two dog tongues rasping against my face._

_"Well trained," Alexei said faintly, catching his breath. "And terrifying. Utterly paralyzing."_

_"I've got a bunch of different whistles for them," I told Alexei. "If I did that whistle again but reversed the notes, the dogs would come in and tear you to shreds."_

_He stared at me. "Wonderful."_

_"Come on, boys!" I stood up and walked to the kitchen. "Let's get some bacon!"_

_Both dogs immediately started jumping up and down, their woofs resounding through the quaint little kitchen. I opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of slices. Holding them way above my head, I turned to the dogs._

_"Sit." I said sternly. Both dogs sat, as still as statues._

_"So these are your friends?" Alexei chuckled, leaning against the kitchen table._

_"Uh huh," I nodded. "Hold." I told the dogs, and placed the strips of bacon across their snouts very carefully. Neither dog even blinked._

_"Wow." Alexei's eyebrows shot up when a couple of seconds passed and the bacon remained intact._

_"Boys," I started. Cosmo, the one with bigger brown spots above his eyes, let out a little whine._

_"Eat!" I cried, and both dogs twisted their heads from side to side and wolfed down the bacon quicker than starved wolves._

_I looked up at Alexei, who was watching me with a grin. "What?" I asked, confused._

_"Nothing," he shook his head. "It's just... I knew that Katerina and Ruslan had a child, but due to certain... circumstances..."_

_"Yeah?" I said softly._

_Alexei smiled at me, a purely happy smile. "I'm just glad I get to see you for the first time."_

_I half-smiled back, unsure of how to respond to that._

_"You know, for a fifteen year-old, you sure are annoying. And that's saying something." A voice came from behind me. Turning around, I saw Cosmo licking the floor where some of the bacon fell, but Sputnik was sitting calmly, staring right at me._

_"Alexei, did you hear-" I looked back to where my uncle had been standing, but all of a sudden the kitchen was empty._

_"Great idea, Barton, drug the homeless teenager. Carry even more deadweight." The voice seemed to come from Sputnik, but the dog was just staring at me, and besides, Sputnik was... a dog._

_Then everything went dark in the kitchen. "Hey!" I cried. "Who turned out the lights?"_

"Yeah, sure, because I don't do enough for this team." The voice was still talking, though this time I could tell it was somewhere above me.

"Mph," I groaned, my lips suddenly feeling numb and heavy. The dark was now stained red, as if my... eyes were closed?

I forced my eyelids open, blinking in the sudden daylight. "Whas..." I muttered. "Whas hapnin'?"

"Great!" The voice said cheerfully. "You're awake."

All of a sudden, my body dropped five or so feet to the cold hard ground. "Ugh," I moaned. "Why does the world smell like bacon and jerky?"

"Because I like having double the meat experience," the voice said. "We had a conversation about it. I don't think you appreciated my obviously surperior point of view."

I flipped myself over on my back and stared upwards, letting everything pop into focus. There was a big blue thing with smaller white thingies... so I'm gonna assume that's the sky. And then a big dark blob appeared right above me. I stared at the blob.

"I didn't drop you on your head, did I?" The blob asked. "Because I assume there was enough of that done when you were a baby."

"Argh," I pressed my palms to my temples. "Migraine incoming. T minus ten minutes, tops."

"Oh, dear." The blob said, devoid of any enthusiasm.

The blob grew lines and colors, and soon enough my eyes were focused enough to see that it was Agent Jerk-wad himself looking down at me.

"No, seriously, did you hit your head?" Barton frowned. 

"Go fudge off," I swatted a hand up at him.

"You're fine." Barton smiled dryly at me, and then walked away.

I slowly picked myself off of the ground and stumbled to my feet, desperately trying to keep my balance. Frowning, I noticed that there was wind in my ears. Wind... so I must be high up somewhere.

I looked around, and saw that I was standing on a relatively small landing bay for jets- the Quin Jet was parked and the rear door open. All around me I could a huge cit, stretching out for what seemed like miles around. Then I turned around, and saw a word that I never wanted to read again. Ever again.

AVENGERS, the building read in big, glowing white letters.

"Kill me now and get it over with!" I yelled out loud and then winced as the throbbing in my head grew.

"Featherweight, hurry up! Wouldn't want me to put a backpack leash on you, would you?" Barton called from inside the building. "Oh yeah, and FYI: tracking features are still up and running on those cuffs. So move into the building or don't move at all."

I hesitated. The wind felt so nice... but the great city of New York was frankly very noisy, and smelly, and my head was gonna explode soon. And it's not like I could run anywhere without them following. So I reluctantly trudged towards the mini-hangar, and walked in one of the small doors on the side.

I walked into a hallway, and I could see Barton's figure striding purposefully away. Rolling my eyes and muttering to myself about how stupid I was being, I eventually came out into that unecessarily large party room.

"Hey, look, the juvenile delinquent finally arrived," Barton called from the mini-bar, where he was pouring himself a drink.

"Not in the mood, Barton," I grumbled. First the dream, then the headache, and now Barton to top everything off. I just needed a nice, quiet place to recuperate in for at least two weeks. Maybe a year. Maybe forever.

"Oh, Gale!" A surprised voice came from the top balcony. Looking upwards and slightly stumbling with vertigo, I saw Miss Potts walking up there. "You're back!"

"And you're peppy, as always," I muttered, rubbing my temples. Barton snorted into his drink.

"Tony said he didn't know when you were going to be stopping by again. I'm sorry I don't have anything prepared, not even an appetizer tray or something-" Miss Potts rattled as she walked down a set of stairs to the main floor.

"Yeah, it's cool," I replied, voice taught.

"Oh, are you alright?" Miss Potts frowned, noticing my tense figure.

"She spent the whole jet ride here _tied up_ ," Barton sniggered.

"Do you have a bottle of Aspirin lying around or something?" I asked, ignoring Barton. "I've got a headache coming on."

"Oh, definitely!" Miss Potts went over to the bar and rummaged around in a drawer for a few seconds. "Aha!" She smiled brightly, holding up a white bottle.

"Thanks," I told her, walking over to her behind the bar and taking the bottle. Miss Potts went over to Barton and started asking him the typical questions- Are you okay, how was the flight, was your mission a success, and all of that jazz.

Frowning, I looked around, searching for a water glass or something. Finally, I saw a cabinet full of them, just within arm's reach above the rows of bottles. Hmm. I could reach up there and get on my tip-toes, or I could just... use my powers. Yeah, I liked that option better.

But the second that my mind connected with the wind, a searing bolt of pain shot through my head. I cried out and stumbled backwards, hands flying up to my skull. All I could think or feel was that everything _hurt_ and I was in so much _pain_ that up seemed down and left was right and it was dark like the lake and everything was cold and _hurt hurt hurt-_

"Gale!" I heard Miss Potts exclaim.

Reeling in agony and shock, I released the wind in my head, and the pain instantly abated. My senses gradually came back, one by one, until I was back to normal. Well, my head felt like someone had taken a chisel to it.

"I'm okay," I gasped, waving the woman off. "I'm okay."

Forcing myself to stand upright, I reached up and grabbed a water glass with shaky hands. Carefully filling it up with water from the tap, I downed at least four or five little pills. Turning around, I saw Miss Potts looking at the bottle of Aspirin worriedly.

"It's fine," I told her, voice raspy. I gestured to my body. "High drug tolerance. Part of being _me_ , I guess. Probably why I woke up so early too. How long was I supposed to out?" I asked Barton coldly, who had moved a couple of feet closer to me. "A day? More?"

"But you just-" Miss Potts said.

"Like I said," I set the glass back down on the bar. "Migraine."

I began to walk out of the room, going anywhere that didn't have people. But as I passed Barton, I paused, and looked him straight in the eye.

"Do something like drug me again," I said very carefully in a dangerous tone. "And I will make good on every threat I've said, consequences be screwed."

Barton stared back, face void of expression. Probably the face he wore when he killed people. I turned away from the man and walked towards a random hallway, away from all of the humans that were causing me grief.

I eventually found the private movie theater, which was perfect for me. I lay down on one of the couches in there just as the migraine burst open like a sack of hornets behind my eyes. The theater was dark and cool, and I couldn't hear anything. So there was nothing to do but lie there, racked with pain, and pray for it to end.

But even though this kind of pain would bring any hardened soldier to their knees weeping, I didn't cry. Not even a single tear slid down my cheek. I had gone through this too many times, had relived my worst memories and nightmares, had felt every nerve and bone and ounce of willpower break over and over again. I had done this so many times, been brought to the tipping point of losing myself, that I couldn't muster any tears.

No tears for dead. No tears for the living. And no tears for the in between, the war-weary fighters who couldn't fight anymore.

No tears for me.


	13. Coffee machines will be the death of me

Just a quick check for everybody: how many of you have ever had a headache?

Yeah, basically everybody has. Hangovers, allergies, watching an electric screen for too long, big temperatures changes, annoying archers who can't get with 21st century weapons- the list of things that _don't_ give you headaches is much shorter and easier to give out.

So, imagine the worst headache you've ever had. Got it? Okay, then imagine that headache without any Aspirin or pain medication. Then imagine it going on for hours on end. Oh yeah, don't forget to imagine that headache tripled- or quadrupled, in some cases (aka mine)- with pain. Right, and did I mention that your senses gradually give out, so the only thing that you can really feel an experience is blinding agony?

Imagine someone taking an axe to your brain from the inside. A dull axe, at that. Imagine someone taking a _chisel_ to your skull from the outside. Then add a swarm of angry hornets and wasps and yellow jackets buzzing around right behind eyes. Then there's the lead feeling that seeps down your spine into the rest of your body, making it impossible for you to move without setting off fog horns and clanking cow bells right in your ears. Oh, and imagine that you're so racked with pain that you can't even _think_ about doing anything else, and you can't even think about thinking.

Okay, so that's a migraine for you.

It's not some headache that you can take two pills for and it vanishes in half an hour. It's not some wimpy thing that some books describe it as, as something that can just be worked through. And it's _definitely_ not something you want other people around for.

What I'm getting at is that I stayed in that unnecessarily large private theater for God knows how long.

The cluster of Aspirin pills I took earlier basically did nothing to help. I don't even know why I thought they would. Well, in all fairness, when I had a normal headache, they did. But this wasn't a _normal headache_. This was full-blown agony.

I think the migraine began to fade after maybe three or so hours, give or take a few. I was able to shift in my place slightly without activating those cow bells and fog horns in my ears. The change was gradual, though. Over the next two hours, I started to get back to normal. The lead feeling in my bones vanished, followed by the disappearance of the hornets and wasps. Finally, the axes and chisels stopped cutting into my skull, and my senses came back to me.

It was, like before, pitch black in the movie theater. That at least didn't assault my eyes. And it was virtually silent, too, save for the quiet whirring of some machine in the back. 

I was lying down on a couch- yes, a couch. I guess actual movie theater seats were below the genius that is Tony Stark. The fabric over the stuffing was like leather, and when I finally managed to swing my legs over the side and sit upright, it stuck to my bare skin and made crinkling sounds.

I groaned as fuzzy orange spots spun around my vision. God dang it- I shouldn't've moved so fast. Maybe I should just lie back down and rest for a while, maybe even fall asleep...

I gave myself a mental slap to the face. Idiot. Falling asleep right after the lake dream was always bad. Add that to the fading migraine, and closing my eyes for more than ten seconds was a death wish for me. But what could I even do to distract myself from conking out on the couch?

Then my belly rumbled, and all of a sudden I was _starving_. How long had it been since I'd had a proper meal? I didn't really know; the migraine episode took at least six or seven hours out of the day. And breakfast was a cup of coffee, and lunch was half a sandwich... so... basically, i was running on fumes at this point.

I carefully stood up, swaying a bit, but deemed myself good to walk around. So I slowly walked to the door of the mini-theater, and opened it.

At first I closed my eyes, expecting bright lights or sunshine to come streaming into my retinas. But everything was dark- not a single light was on. I squinted up at the hallway ceiling suspiciously.

"Hello, Miss Gale." JARVIS's voice suddenly came from the ceiling. 

"Ouch," I winced, hands going to my ears as a red bolt of pain lanced through my head. "A bit quieter, capiche?"

"My apologies, Miss Gale," JARVIS immediately lowered his voice.

"That's better," I exhaled.

"I'm glad to see that your return to Avengers Tower is in good health, Miss Gale."

"Sure, whatever you want to call it. Healthy, house arrest, forced confinement- I don't care," I almost rolled my eyes, but remembered that this soon after a migraine, that wouldn't ease the pain. "And it's Gale."

"I have not mispronounced your name, Miss Gale, unless there is an alternate pronunciation that I have not been made aware of."

"No," I sighed. "Just call me Gale. Why is this so hard for you to do?"

"Once again, Miss Gale, I do not believe that I am mispronouncing your name. Perhaps you would like to make this situation clearer?"

"I'm- you're- it's just- argh!" I exhaled sharply through my nose. "Look, buddy, I'm not feeling too well right now, so could you just point me to a place with food? Preferably also with caffeine?"

"Of course, Miss-"

"Call me Gale. Nothing but Gale. No 'Miss', no nothing before my name. Gale. Gay-uhl."

"Of course, Gale." JARVIS replied smoothly.

"Thank you," my shoulders sagged with relief.

"The easiest way to the kitchen is to take two lefts and then a right, beginning straight ahead of you."

"Finally." I began walking in that direction, following JARVIS's instructions.

"There is also a small medicine cabinet located near the kitchen. Since you aren't feeling well, you can pick up something there if you'd like."

"Oh my God,' I muttered out loud. "Where have you been all my life?"

"At Avengers Tower, Gale."

I actually let out a tiny chuckle at that. 

"Would you like to know where any particular foods are, Gale?" JARVIS asked, and then I realized that I was already standing in the kitchen.

It was large- big enough to hold at least ten to fifteen people inside, with a table island thingy and gleaming expanses of marble counter-top. All of the appliances were stainless steel and spotless, and probably had never been used by Stark.

"I'm good, JARVIS." I dismissed him. "But thanks."

"My pleasure, Gale."

I started opening the cabinet and pantry doors, searching for a particular item that I just couldn't find anywhere. Seriously. Stark had boxes and boxes of pop-tarts for some reason (I wolfed down three packages of those, which solved the hungry part), and an entire shelf's worth of cereal, but where was...

"Hey JARVIS?" I spoke up as I looked around the kitchen. "Where's the coffee?"

"What style would you like, Gale?" JARVIS asked.

"Um," I stalled, confused. "What... styles... are there?"

"Cappuccino, macchiato, cafe latte, affogato, ristretto, cafe au lait, frappe-"

"Just- just-" I interrupted him. "Coffee. Normal coffee. Maybe with some milk and cream."

"And what kind of blend would you like?"

I stared at the ceiling. "You've got to be kidding me."

"If you're not sure, then may I suggest Mr. Stark's personal preferences?"

"Go ahead. I've got the feeling nothing will stop you."

"His recent favorite is the Uzuri African Blend, but the Aged Sumatra has always been a close second."

"Of course," I said. "Because why would you have normal coffee when you're a billionaire?"

"There is, however, a small bag of ordinary coffee beans in the cupboard located to your right."

I opened up the mentioned cupboard, and smiled at the sight of the coffee bag. "You're amazing, JARVIS."

"I am programmed to be as such."

I smiled lightly and plugged in the coffee machine. "Uh," I said as I looked at all of the buttons. "Can I get some help here?"

"Certainly. Take two scoops of coffee and place it in the side tray..."

JARVIS walked me through the entire process, which I was eternally grateful for, because I cannot work a coffee machine to save my life. And five minutes later, the coffee was ready, the delicious smell wafting through the kitchen.

"JARVIS," I mumbled as I took a sip of perfect coffee, still facing the counter tops and the wall. "You're a life saver."

"Thank you, Gale. Is there anything else you need assistance with?"

"Actually," I said as a thought occurred to me. "I've got a couple questions. Like, where is everyone? And what time is it?"

"It is currently 5:17 in the morning. Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark are in their laboratory, Miss Potts is asleep in her room, and Mr. Barton is in the kitchen."

"Oh," I nodded to myself. "Wait a second-"

"Hey, pipsqueak."

I whirled around quickly, startled at the sudden voice. "Jesus-!" I cried as the coffee spilled all over my front.

"Whoa, didn't mean to startle you," Barton chuckled with a wicked grin that said it was _exactly_ what he meant to do.

I glared at the man. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"I could say the same to you." Barton looked behind me. "Is that coffee? Score."

He walked around me and started fiddling with the coffee machine, and soon enough it was beeping merrily and making a new cup of liquid gold.

"I just wanted to be happy," I muttered as I sat down on a stool at the little island table. "I wanted play my guitar, eat greasy burgers, and live in my dumpster."

"That's happy?" Barton asked, leaning back against the counter top, waiting for the machine to be done making his coffee.

I glared at him. "Then SHIELD shows up, and you shoot me."

"Hey, you were trying to run away."

"You guys had twenty guns pointed at me. What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, back down for starters?"

"And then what would you have done to me?"

"Make a file, help you, and then give you a new life."

I scoffed. "Wow, you're really one of them. A carbon copy of the perfect agent."

Barton frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I took a gulp of my coffee. "It means that you'll just follow orders blindly. Doesn't matter who's in the way, doesn't matter who's life you're ruining. You'll do whatever they tell you to. Orders, mission, shoot, kill, repeat."

"And is that a bad thing? Following orders?" Barton raised an eyebrow.

I laughed dryly. "Sooner or later, they'll find another copy. When you're old, when you've fallen just a little bit behind- that's when they'll tell _you_ to back down. That copy will be able to shoot as well as you, fight as well as you, and most importantly- follow orders just as perfectly as you can. But you won't argue. You'll do anything and everything that SHIELD orders you to do." 

I looked straight at Barton, shaking my head sadly. "They'll tell you to burn your house down, and all you'll do is ask for a match."

"You're such a pessimist," Barton grabbed his finished cup of coffee and took a sip. 

"And somehow I'm always right," I replied.

No one said anything for a minute. The smell of coffee was the only thing hanging in the air.

"So," I spoke up. "What kind of a name is Clint?"

Barton stared at me. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Dr. Banner mentioned it once, when he was cleaning up..." I held up my arms, the bandages around them in full view. "So what's it short for?"

"Nothing," Barton muttered into his coffee mug.

"Something embarrassing, I hope," I mused. "Clint... Clinteesha? Clintmas? Clinton?"

At the last one, Barton's eyes shifted to the side. I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously? Clinton?" I laughed. "Dude, what did you ever do to your parents to make them want to name you that?"

"Shut up," Barton glared at me. "Or I will shoot you again."

I made a face at him. "Observation detail, right? Not bodily-harm detail. Or stalker detail. Speaking of which, why are you following me?"

"What?" Barton defended. "I just wanted a cup of coffee, so I went to the kitchen."

"Right," I nodded slowly. "And Clinton isn't the dorkiest name I've ever heard."

"Fine," Barton rolled his eyes. "I followed the tracking feature on your cuffs."

I stared down at the offending bands around my wrists. "I'm gonna hafta get you guys off at some point."

"Besides," Barton reasoned. "You basically vanished after we got here. How was I to know that you hadn't escaped?"

"Logically," I started. "This tower would've been me-proofed ever since Fury decided to send me here. So I'm willing to bet there's a butt-ton of security systems and other things set up to stop me should I desire a sudden change of scenery. You would've known if I'd tried to escape. Plus, it's not like I could've."

"And by that incredibly vague statement you mean..." Barton gestured to me with his coffee mug.

"I already told you when we first landed: migraine."

"Oh," Barton nodded. "It's been hours. That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," I slumped forward, resting my forehead on the cool marble. "I just want to wake up back in my dumpster and then put New York in my rear-view mirror."

"You're fifteen. You can't even drive," Barton scoffed.

"I wouldn't," I shook my head. "Private license plates are too easy to track with SHIELD's technology, and you've got facial recognition too, so if I tried to steal one on the street you'd catch me. Instead I'd hitch a ride with a taxi or a bus and get to the outskirts of the city, and then find a good cruising speed and simply fly the heck outta dodge-" I paused. "Oh, very clever. Getting me to tell you how I'd escape. Ha ha."

"It worked," Barton added. "So now I can add taxis, buses, and flying teenage girls onto my watch list."

"I hate you so much." I gulped down my coffee.

"Hate you too," Barton did the same, tipping his mug way back.

Just then, the sound of footsteps broke through the otherwise silent atmosphere. Voices followed, floating towards us and increasing in volume as they neared the kitchen.

"I'm telling you, plutonium would just offset the entire process!"

"But the tungsten counteracts most of that."

" _Most_ of it. And there's still the matter of radioactive materials we have to worry about."

"Psh. Like I have to worry. Besides, what could radiation do to me? Give me more superpowers?"

"It'll kill you."

"Or give me the ability to walk through walls."

"Tony-"

"Or read minds."

"Tony-"

"Or shoot lasers out of my eyes."

"Tony-"

"Or give me super strength. Like Captain Popsicle."

Stark and Dr. Banner walked into the kitchen, deep in argument. They still hadn't noticed me and Barton yet. Huh. Surprising. You think you'd see a master assassin and a superpowered girl drinking coffee when you came into a room, but I guess that wasn't given.

"No, that'll probably kill you," I said aloud, announcing my presence. Both men immediately looked up at us.

"But by all means," I continued, waving a hand at Stark. "Go ahead. I'll even set everything up for you."

"The fugitive's here. Call the cops." Stark said with what was probably meant to be a joking tone, and Dr. Banner nudged him with his elbow.

"Tony, be nice," the doctor frowned.

"No, go ahead," I told Stark. "It'll make it easier to kill you."

All three men gave me weird looks. I raised an eyebrow and stood up, holding my empty mug. "Well," I said as I walked over to the sink. "This has been as lovely as the weird patch of mold in the back of my dumpster, but I'd like to be going now." I set the mug down in the sink and rinsed it out with water.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Banner asked me.

"You're kidding me, right?" I frowned, and turned around. "Are you seriously going to Sigmund Freud your way through this conversation?"

"Pepper said you got a pretty bad migraine," Dr. Banner admitted.

I turned to Barton with a look of shock on my face. "Oh my God! Pepper actually remembered what's wrong with me!" Then I smiled widely, and patted Barton on the shoulder. "It's okay, Pigeonbutt. We can't all be decent or even average at certain aspects of life such as short term memory."

"Hawkeye," Barton grumbled. "For the last time, it's _Hawkeye_."

"Right," I nodded. "So do you hate Sylvester the Cat or what? Do you have a little bird cage somewhere up in the maze of air ducts?"

Stark let out a snort as he opened the fridge. "Maybe this won't be so bad after all. Gotta say, _Pigeonbutt_ , I like the new code name."

Stark pulled a box of Chinese takeout out from the fridge, and opened it. Giving it a quick sniff, he shrugged and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from a nearby cabinet. "Bruce, want some?"

Dr. Banner gave Stark a weird look. "Uh... I'm good."

"Dr. Banner, I do believe that you might want to locate the nearest First-Aid Kit," I gave the box of Chinese food a wary glance. Stark rolled his eyes and shoveled a heap of chow mein into his mouth.

"Okay- what's with the names?" Barton asked, finishing his cup of coffee with a disappointed sigh towards the bottom of the mug.

"I don't follow," I frowned.

"You call me 'Barton', you call Tony 'Stark'," Barton nodded at the billionaire who was currently snacking on some very out of date fortune cookies.

"But," Barton continued. "You call Bruce Dr. Banner. Not Banner, not science guy, but Dr. Banner."

"Well, if I went around saying Science Guy I'm pretty sure the majority of the population would start ritualistically chanting Bill," I shrugged. "And besides, Dr. Banner has earned that title. Respect's given when respect is deserved."

"Oh," Barton nodded. "Wait- so why am I not 'Agent Barton'? Why isn't Tony 'Mr. Stark'?"

"Because you're a jerk and Stark's just an egotistical monkey with a metal suit," I replied.

"Hey!" Stark cried.

"Oh, so you haven't ever drank 'till you threw up?" I narrowed my eyes at Stark from across the table. "You never were a playboy? You never created weapons of mass destruction for a profit and then pointed your finger at someone else when innocent people got hurt? You've never killed anyone who didn't deserve it?"

Stark set down his chopsticks and stared back at me. "You think you're so smart, waltzing around and moving things in the air with your super special magic tricks. You know what, since I'm so flawed, let's invite some outside parties for a vote."

"Tony," Dr. Banner warned. "Let's take a step back and think about this." But Stark didn't even blink.

"Could you run this place better than I can?" Stark said, not caring about the words he was uttering. "What about your _parents_ , huh? What about your _dad_?"

The coffee mug in Barton's hands shattered, as if struck by a hammer. At the same time, Stark's chopsticks flew upwards and lodged themselves an inch deep in the ceiling. I glared at Stark, doing my best to keep my emotions under control, but that was the last straw.

"Tony!" Barton scolded.

"My father," I spoke carefully as I looked Stark right in the eye, keeping my composure on the outside. "Was ten times the man you think you are. He would've turned 'this place' into everything that the world needed. So don't lecture me on my parents, _Stark_ , when you never had the honor of meeting them."

With that, I stood up and walked out of the kitchen, vision brimming with silver. My blood was coursing through my body at unnatural speeds, feeling like boiling water in one moment and then freezing cold the next. 

I kept purposefully striding down the maze of hallways, not even caring where I was going. I tried to be nice, I really did, but when Stark just crossed the line like that- well, maybe I really did have anger issues.

All of a sudden, I came out into a huge room. It was a gym, I noticed. There were track lanes circling the room, wrestling mats in the center, and even a bunch of weights in one of the corners. Punching bags hung in an orderly line across one wall, some of them looking worse for wear. The ceiling was insanely high, with rafters that resembled a barn or something.

"At least there's no one here," I muttered to myself. My words seemed to echo around the room in testament to that statement.

"Okay, Gale," I continued, eyeing the rafters. "You got this. It's just a simple glide upwards, nothing too complicated, no fancy flying. It's just... going up."

Taking a deep breath, I shook out my hands and stepped back and forth a bit, getting warmed up. Closing my eyes, I reached inside of me and tried to visualize myself and the wind. It was a method that Dyadya Alexei taught me, when I needed control or when I just wanted to calm down. So I imagined my world, how I saw everything, but through my eyes and not anyone else's...

Everything was dark, everything was like night... but I could feel something else present, something just beyond the black curtain. Focusing on it, I grabbed it with my mind, and slowly reeled it back towards me.

A flicker of light appeared. It was a shade between white and silver, like mint and the trickle of water between your fingers and the feeling of falling backwards but never hitting the ground. That winding trail of light grew and grew, and as it neared me, I could see the outlines of my body. I was just a cut-out of the darkness that surrounded me, but when the light finally touched me, I turned into mercury and moonlight.

As the fragments of the wind slowly wrapped around me, I felt the hole in my chest start to fill. But it never was completely sealed- it never would be. And now I was ready, now I was connected with the wind, now I could start to put myself back together again.

I opened my eyes, the world still dark around the edges but swirled with silver. Holding out my hands, I wrapped every scrap of wind in this room around me, and uttered a single command: _up_.

I flew backwards into the wall.

"Oh," I groaned, picking myself up from the floor. "That's gonna bruise."

Standing up, I tried again. _Up_. And this time, one of the wrestling mats flipped over.

"Come on," I whined. "Is this too much to ask?"

_Yes_ , the winds seemed to reply.

"Well," I grumbled. "Let's try hovering. How about that? Just an inch above the floor, that's all I need." I held out my hands, and without warning I went rocketing upwards.

"HOLY-" I cried, but was cut off by a sudden lack of propulsion, and fell back to the floor.

"GOD DANG YOU!" I shook my fist at the empty room. I swear I could hear laughter coming from the air.

"Okay," I rubbed my hands together. "This is happening. Now. Or I swear to God I'll stand here until I get this right."

Concentrating with all of my might, I bent my knees, pulled the wind close, and jumped.

I shot straight up, faltering and slowing constantly but still climbing. Finally, I reached the rafters, but that was when the wind gave out. I frantically grabbed the metal beam to stop myself from falling again, my arms lying flat across the top of the surface, feet dangling.

"I'll take that," I grunted as I kicked my legs and pulled myself onto the top of the rafter. Sighing in relief, I took a look down. Jeez- it sure was a ways away. I was high enough to break my neck if I just fell.

"Ah," I exhaled as I scooted to the spot where the rafter was attached to the wall, and leaned back. The metal beam was wide enough for me to relax comfortably on it- maybe five and a half, six feet in width. Propping one knee up and laying the other leg flat, I allowed myself a moment to just calm down.

Man, it had been ages since I'd been able to really calm down for once. Back in SHIELD headquarters, I hadn't allowed myself to let my guard down. I knew too well that they could turn on me in an instant- not like they hadn't already, with the whole 'locked in a cage with only potatoes for company' thing. But at least here, in Stark's precious Avengers Tower, I had a bit of wiggle room. At least I wasn't in a wheelchair this time around.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift off, closing down the parts of me that were still on high-alert. I just needed to relax. I just wanted to let my muscles loosen, to feel like I wasn't on the run. I just wanted to feel normal again.

As I let my thoughts meander around daydreams, I slowly opened my eyes and looked around me. The ceiling, which was a good six feet from the rafter where I was, was lit from the windows on the far sides of the gym. The sun, which was just coming up, threw golden planes of light across the top sliver of the room. It smelled like sweat and plastic and sand and metal... just like... just like...

_"Faster!" Papa ordered._

_I watched as the young man slammed his fists into the punching bag, quickening his pace. Papa stood next to me, observing the man._

_"Papa?" I said in a small voice, tugging on the hem of his black shirt._

_"Yes, Gale?" Papa's face instantly softened as he looked down at me._

_"Why does he have to be faster?" I tilted my head. "He seems fast already."_

_Papa chuckled lightly. "Because you can always improve. There is no limit to adaptation, nor evolution. This man has potential, and potential means you're not working hard enough."_

_"Thank you, sir," the man said between punches._

_"Easy, Daniel," Papa raised a hand. "I'd rather you still be alive tomorrow than have you wear yourself out now."_

_Daniel stepped back from the punching bag and nodded at Papa. Then he walked wearily out of the small gym, leaving me and Papa alone._

_"Papa," I said again. "When can I start training?"_

_Papa chuckled. "Gale, you're only seven. I don't let any of my students begin training until they're ten years old."_

_"But I'm ready!" I protested, jumping up and down. "I can use my legacy just as well as any of your students. See?"_

_Before Papa could stop me, I turned towards the punching bag. Taking a brief moment to calm my mind, I reached out with one hand and made a vicious slicing gesture._

_A ripping slice in the punching bag appeared, spewing sand like a geyser. The edges of the fabric were simply severed with what seemed like medical precision. I turned to Papa with a big smile. "See, Papa? See?"_

_Papa's eyebrows were slightly raised, his colorless eyes wide. "Gale... who taught you that?"_

_"I did," I said proudly. "Just like with the threads of wind, like I showed Alexei. It's easy!" I giggled, but Papa wasn't laughing._

_"Gale," Papa knelt down and placed his hands on my shoulders. "You need to promise me something."_

_"Did I do something wrong, Papa?" I asked, suddenly feeling like I shouldn't've showed him that trick._

_"No, Gale," Papa said. "You just... you need to be careful about who you show these things to, okay? There are those who would wish to use you. There are those who would wish to take you away from us if they knew..." Papa trailed off._

_"Knew what, Papa?" I frowned. Papa rarely lost focus, and when he did, it always was about something bad._

_But then Papa smiled at me, and tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear. "I love you, Gale. Never forget that. I will never let any harm come to you, from humans or from one of our own."_

_I giggled. "Papa, no one's gonna hurt me."_

_Papa smiled again, but this time it was hesitant, and maybe a bit fake. "I hope so, Gale." He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "Let's go find Sputnik and Cosmo. Last one there-"_

_"Has to wear one of Mama's dresses!" I finished, and raced off towards the door. Papa followed me close behind, both of us running through the halls of our house, laughing and giggling and smiling so hard our cheeks hurt._

A sudden sound broke me out of my memories. Blinking, I looked around, a bit dazed. Right- I was in the gym, in the tower, running away from all of the jerks that lived here. Fun.

"Well, that doesn't seem too cozy." A voice came from far below me. Looking down, I saw Barton staring back up at me.

"Just leave me alone, Devil Incarnate," I groaned and leaned my head back.

"Nice one, Antichrist," Barton snorted. I heard a rustling noise, and then the thrum of a coiling string. All of a sudden, something whizzed by my face and buried itself in the wall next to the rafter.

"Holy shiz!" I yelped, and almost scooted away from it before I realized where I was, and that scooting backwards would _not_ be helping my situation.

"Right, hold on," I heard Barton mutter. Peering at the projectile, I noticed that it was an arrow- but with claws that dug into the wall, and it was connected to a rope that looked suspiciously like-

A loud _whirr_ came from below, and suddenly Barton was holding onto his bow, which was hooked onto the rope, which was pulling him straight up.

"There we go!" Barton grinned, and as he became level with the rafter, he jumped towards it and landed in a crouch.

I glared at him. "Drop dead."

"Yes indeed, you're correct for once," Barton carefully peered over the side. "If either of us drop, we'll actually be dead."

"I. Hate. You. So. Much." I said, punctuating each word by gently banging my head against the wall.

"At least the feeling's mutual," Barton remarked, and sat down cross-legged across from me, about six feet away.

"Why are you here?" I said monotonously.

"Well," Barton inspected one of his hands, where I could see the edges of a white bandage. "When you shattered that coffee mug, I was still holding it. One of the bigger shards sliced open my hand. But you'll be disappointed to know that I don't need stitches."

"Oh boo hoo, cry me a river," I snapped, turning my head to the side.

"Whoa," Barton gave me a wary look. "No need to go that far. Besides, I'm only here to make sure that you don't screw up anything else."

"Oh yeah, because insulting me like that won't set off my _volatile_ powers that hinge on my emotions, _especially_ how annoyed I am at the moment."

"It's about your parents, isn't it?" Barton guessed. I didn't respond to that, just opting to glare holes in the ceiling.

"Yeah, thought as much," the man sighed, and then leaned forward. "What's the scoop?"

"The scoop?" I raised my eyebrows, still not looking directly at Barton.

"Yeah," he nodded. "The scoop. The inside story. What kind of thing went down? Accident? Not accident?"

"I'm not talking to _you_ ," I spat at Barton. "You're rude, you've done nothing but get on my nerves, you obviously don't know when to walk away from a subject that I obviously _don't want to talk about_!"

Barton stared back at me, the epitome of calmness. "You _do_ know that yelling doesn't solve anything, right?"

"You know _nothing_ about me!" I yelled at Barton. "You don't have the right to lecture me on what will and won't solve my problems!"

"Maybe if you got past your own ego you'd actually let SHIELD help you!" Barton finally raised his voice, getting annoyed.

"I'm not- it's not- ARGH!" I shouted, banging my fists down on the metal beneath me.

Far below us, half of the punching bags burst open in a sudden explosion. Sand flew everywhere and clouds of dust rose up above the ground. 

Breathing deeply, I closed my eyes in a wince as I rubbed the bandages on my arms. "Stupid..." I muttered, my forearms twinging with needles of pain.

"And... _that_ is why I'm here." Barton commented. "So stuff like this doesn't happen around other people."

"That's a punching bag!" I pointed down at the floor. "Not an elderly grandma!"

"Next time it might be," Barton shot back.

"Just leave me alone!" I glared daggers at Barton. He glared back. Neither of us flinched. I expected some Western movie theme music to start playing, and then have the camera slowly pan up on our eyes.

"Fine." Barton muttered. "It's too early to deal with you."

He got up and hooked his bow onto the rope, and began to glide back down to the floor.

"It's six in the morning!" I hollered after him. "It's too early for everything!"

I heard the door to the gym open and then close, leaving me alone with the empty room and the broken punching bags and the sand spills.

I propped up my knees and rested my head on them, only aware of the hissing air whooshing into my lungs and then out... in and then out... a constant rhythm that I depended on every day of my life.

'Cause, you see, if I couldn't control something as simple as my breathing, then I couldn't control my heart rate. If I couldn't control my heart rate then I couldn't control my emotions. If I couldn't control my emotions then I couldn't control my legacy- I couldn't control the wind.

And if I couldn't control myself, then people would get hurt. People like Mama, like Papa, like Alexei.

All of a sudden, the arrow embedded in the wall beside me exploded in a shower of glitter. I coughed as I inhaled sparkles, waving my hands around and trying to disperse the cloud of rainbows.

From the air vents near me, I could hear the echos of someone laughing up a storm.

_Well_ , I thought to myself. _Maybe I could bear to lose control around Barton._

Get ready, Barton, 'cause here I come.


	14. The bathroom is bigger than my dumpster. This concerns me greatly

I stayed up in the rafters of the gym for at least an hour and a half, probably more. It was so peaceful up there, and nobody was bothering me, and I managed to get most of the glitter out of my clothes, so that was a bonus.

"Gale?" I heard someone call from outside of the gym.

"Please don't come in here, please don't come in here," I closed my eyes and prayed. Currently, I was lying on my back in the middle of the rafter, hanging over the center of the gym. If I rolled to either side, I'd fall and snap my neck. See? Peaceful.

Then the gym door opened again, and I tried to scrunch myself up so nobody could see me.

"Gale? I know you're in here. Clint told me," I heard Miss Potts' voice ring out in the otherwise empty room.

I groaned before I could stop myself, and I heard Miss Potts sigh in relief. "There you are," she said.

"Okay, I've gotta admit," I spoke up. "You're the person who I like the most in this place. And believe me, that's an accomplishment, because usually I tell people that I dislike them the least."

"Um, okay," Miss Potts called upwards. "So, you've been up there for quite a while..."

I flipped over onto my stomach and scootched over to the edge of the rafter, where I peeked my head out and looked down at the woman. "Miss Potts, it's frankly very lovely up here. You should consider putting some bean bag chairs and a television up here."

"I'll look into it," Miss Potts smiled up at me. "But, seeing as we never really got around to it before, I figured I could give you the grand tour today."

"That's... great," I said, surprised. "I'd actually like to do that. But... uh... I'm just gonna stay up here for a bit longer."

"Why?" Miss Potts asked, frowning in confusion. "I mean, it can't be _that_ interesting."

"Eh, well," I rotated my hand back and forth in a so-so motion. "It's nice."

"Uh-huh," Miss Potts stared at me, gears spinning in her brain. "Gale, are you having trouble getting down from there?"

"What?!" I spluttered, face turning red. "No- I just- it's not- maybe hypothetically."

Miss Potts raised her eyebrows. "Can't you just fly down?"

"I'm having a bit of trouble stretching my metaphorical wings," I grumbled.

"JARVIS? Could you get some help in here?" Miss Potts called out.

"Certainly, Miss Potts," JARVIS responded coolly.

"No, no, I'm fine!" I waved my hands. "Is there a rope down there? Or, like, a really tall ladder?"

"It's alright, Gale, you'll be fine," Miss Potts assured me.

"Yes! I _am_ fine right now! All I need is to focus on my power- and maybe you should stack a few of those wrestling mats underneath me..." I added.

Then someone new walked into the gym. "Pepper, what's going- oh."

I stared in absolute horror at the man who stood next to Miss Potts, staring straight up at me.

"This is good," Barton grinned. "This is really, _really_ good."

"Anybody but him!" I hollered at the ceiling. "JARVIS, you could've gotten _anybody_ but him!"

"Agent Barton frequently comes up to the rafters when he is here," JARVIS replied. "He is the most qualified individual to help you down."

"For the last time, I'M NOT STUCK!" I shouted.

"Sure," Barton chuckled, and set the bow that he was carrying down on the ground. "Gimme a sec..." He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of me before I could protest. "That's going straight to the Helicarrier break room."

"BARTON!"

"Sheesh, fine, I'll help you down, you homeless kitten stuck up in a high place. Does this make me the fire department?"

"I DO NOT NEED ANY HELP!"

"I should have Tony make badges for us: AVENGERS, fighting crime and saving helpless strays."

"SHOVE THOSE BADGES UP YOUR BUTTS, WHY DON'T YOU!"

"Gale," Miss Potts reasoned. "It'll only take a couple of seconds, and then we'll get straight to the tour."

"I don't need help," I huffed.

"Come on, pipsqueak," Barton picked up his bow again and notched a weird looking arrow onto the string. He fired it at the ceiling, and it lodged itself near my head. I glared at Barton. He stuck his tongue out at me.

"Gale, how about this? First stop we make on the tour will be to get some actual breakfast," Miss Potts offered.

"I'm listening," I replied, still miffed at the whole scenario.

"All you have to do is grab that tiny bar near the arrowhead, okay?" Barton told me. "It detaches and you'll zip-line back to the sweet, sweet ground."

"No." I said it out of sheer spite.

"Gale," Miss Potts sighed. "Be reasonable."

I thought about it for a second, and rolled my eyes. "Fine. Only because I really have to pee."

Crouching on the rafter, I reached out towards the arrow and grabbed a tiny handle that was just big enough to squeeze both of my hands onto. 

"Any day now," Barton called.

"Okay," I told myself. "It's just a zip-line. Just a zip-line." I took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

I stepped off of the rafter and put my life in the hands of a pointy metal stick and the butt-hole that fired it.

Immediately I plunged downwards. The rope hung downwards and swung side to side with what little weight I had. Rocketing towards the floor at an alarming rate, I'm pretty sure I let out a very heroic screech before I crashed feet first into Barton.

We both went down like bowling pins, hitting the floor with a huge thud.

"Oh," I groaned, blinking rapidly. I was facing the ceiling, and I'm pretty sure birds were flying around my head cartoon-style. "At least I landed on something soft," I commented as I wiggled around a bit, seeing if any of my bones were broken.

"That's my face." Barton's muffled voice came from somewhere beneath me. "Kindly remove your elbow from it."

"Oops," I grinned and got up, making sure that I used my arms to prop myself up. Finally, I got myself upright, and rolled my shoulders as I made sure that everything was in working order.

"You know, you could've landed anywhere around me," Barton scowled as he got to his feet, rubbing his nose.

"Oh, I can try that again, if that's what you're asking," I said with the utmost innocence.

"Let's just begin the tour before you two kill each other," Miss Potts gently guided me towards the door.

"See ya later, Penguinfart!" I cheerfully saluted Barton as I exited the room.

"HAWKEYE!" He yelled as I walked away. "For the last time, it's HAWKEYE!"

"Oh," I chuckled, putting a spring in my step as we walked down the long hallway. "I'm definitely not dropping that one."

"It doesn't help anything, you know," Miss Potts told me, her heels clicking against the floor with each stride. "Take it from a woman who deals with Tony Stark every day: those kinds of things that you're doing will just make everything worse."

"You mean more fun."

"Gale," Miss Potts sighed. "From what I was told, you're going to be here a while. You might as well learn to get along with everybody."

I snorted. "I highly doubt I'll end up having tea parties with Barton any time soon. Actually, that'll never happen. _Ever_."

"You never know," Miss Potts smiled lightly at me. "Living with people day after day- good people, people who want to help you... it's bound the change a person in ways they can't think of."

"So does lethal injection."

"I was referring to something slightly less deadly."

"Oh. Second degree burns?"

Miss Potts sighed again. "I'm just trying to help you, Gale."

"I know," I huffed. "It's just..." I looked briefly at Miss Potts before focusing on my feet. "That's my default mode for coping with things I don't like."

"Really?" She asked, tilting her head. "Why's that?"

"Mostly 'cause it's easier to be like that around other people. It's easier to be critical and judgmental and be nothing but the person who wisecracks at every given opportunity," I admitted, my voice kinda drifting off and losing its sharp quality. "If you can control what people see when they look at you, then you don't really feel like you're treading on eggshells around everyone. It's comforting for me, I guess, to be able to control something. One more wall for enemies to try to break down. One more barrier to break for those who want to hurt you."

"And you've meet a lot of people who... want to hurt you? For what you've done in the past?" Miss Potts looked down at me, concerned.

I laughed at that. "Miss Potts, I'm capable of tearing this tower to dust under two minutes, given proper motivation. I'd say that the majority of the population wants to hurt me just for being me."

"Ah. I see." Miss Potts took a tiny step away from me- barely a couple of centimeters, but still a step. She probably did it without thinking... and I guess everybody who I was around did that too.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I told her.

"I didn't say anything about that," Miss Potts frowned.

I sighed, and stopped walking. Miss Potts halted as well, looking back at me in confusion.

"Can you make JARVIS, I dunno, disappear for a minute?" I asked her. "No audio, no visual recordings? Knowing Stark, he's probably got that wired up to track me."

Miss Potts gave me a wary look. "Why do I need to do that?"

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you," I repeated. "If you want me to let you 'help me' or whatever, fine. If you trust me enough to turn JARVIS off for a second, I give you my word that nothing bad will happen."

Miss Potts stared at me for a moment, but then pulled out her phone and punched in a command. I didn't know if she really did what I asked, but I guess that was the thing about trust. Either party could screw the other over in a heartbeat. But, like how I knew Dr. Banner wouldn't use the knowledge of my uncle against me, I knew that Pepper Potts was the best candidate for what I was about to entrust her with.

"Kozel," I said simply.

"What?"

"It means 'goat', in my native language," I clarified. "I'm sure Patchy the Pirate filled you in on everything SHIELD knows about me, including my country of birth."

"You're Russian," Miss Potts nodded.

"Kozel," I took a deep breath, and looked down at my feet. "It was my nickname. My family- mom, dad, uncle, everybody- they all called me that. Probably 'cause I'm so stubborn most of the time." I cracked a tiny grin at the memory.

Then I cleared my throat, and looked back up at Miss Potts. "It's a fail safe," I told her. "SHIELD's right on the fact that sometimes my emotions get the better of me. Remember what I said about destroying this tower? Yeah, under the right circumstances that looks like a warm-up compared to my full potential. Buildings? Rubble, once I'm finished. People? When I lose control they're as strong as a toothpick. Guns? They're water pistols when I'm really ticked off."

"Gale-" Miss Potts started, sympathy glittering in her eyes.

"In case I ever lose control, just say that. Kozel. It's not too hard." I continued. "It'll stop me dead in my tracks. Either I'll flicker out of 'supernova mode', or I'll freeze long enough for somebody to knock me out. But fair warning- it'll probably also trigger some nasty flashbacks. So- so just-"

I bit the inside of cheek nervously. "Just don't run around yelling it from the rooftops, _ponimayu_? Understand?"

Miss Potts actually smiled down at me. Even though I just told her I was capable of killing her with the flick of my little finger. Oh, humans never cease to fascinate me.

"Okay, Gale," she said in a warm tone. "I understand."

"Right." I nodded once. "Okay. Good. And Miss Potts-"

"Pepper," she said. "Miss Potts is a bit too formal, I think, if you're going to be a resident here."

I gave her a tiny smile. "Pepper. Um, also... please don't tell anyone else about that. Eventually SHIELD'll get a hold of it and then they'll just..."

"Use it against you," Pepper finished. "Got it. My lips are sealed."

I tilted my head, and looked at her. "You know, you kinda look like her. Well, if you were shorter... and wore your hair down..."

"Who?" Pepper asked.

"Mom." I answered, my smile faltering a bit.

"She sounds great," Pepper told me. Then she patted me on the shoulder. "Come on. Avengers Tower awaits us."

"Right," I muttered. "Thanks, Pepper. Don't make me regret telling you."

"Ominous," Pepper laughed. "Now, where do you want to go first?"

"Uh..." I replied, very intelligently. "What's... what else is on this level? I don't think I've been anywhere besides this floor."

"Right," Pepper nodded, and she looked at me apologetically. "Per Director Fury's requests, you're not allowed to go below the private floors."

"Sure," I said, a bit bitterly. "Can't have a criminal with superpowers disrupting the office life."

"Gale, I'm so sorry about that," Pepper apologized. "Honestly, I personally don't believe SHIELD should be treating you this way. They handled Tony much nicer and you're just a kid-"

"Pepper," I cut across her mini-speech. "It's fine."

"But the way they're treating you-" Pepper protested.

"Is completely valid," I finished. I took a deep breath in, steadying myself. "I told you what I could do to this place. How do you think I know that? Just a good guess?"

"Gale," Pepper said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry."

I held up a hand, stopping her. "Let's just get on to the tour before we collapse into a chick-flick moment, okay?"

"Okay." Pepper patted me on the shoulder. "First stop- main room on this floor."

"Wait, that party room?" I asked as she led me through a doorway into the huge common area that everybody seemed to frequent.

"Yes, that's the one," Pepper walked to the middle of the room and began pointing things out to me. "This is where most of us here like to hang out in our spare time. As you can see, there's a bar- but since your fifteen, we won't have any problems with that."

"No way," I shook my head. "I kinda swore off alcohol when my Papa let me have a taste of Irish whiskey. Two cups of water down the hatch, trying to get rid of the taste." I chuckled.

Pepper smiled. "There's the flight of staircases leading to the balcony over there. Up there, we've got a couple of coffee tables, some chairs, that sort of thing. Also, one of Tony's labs is up there-" she pointed to a glass surface in the upper corner of the room, looking out over the entire space. "He likes to hang up there by himself, so I wouldn't go up there without his permission."

"Cool," I nodded. "What else is on this floor?"

"The gym, as you've discovered," Pepper answered. "Also, the landing platform is at this altitude so the hangar leads back here. There's the main kitchen, fully stocked at all times, mostly because Clint and Natasha have a fondness for midnight snacks. The pool is on this level too, and so is..."

Pepper listed the several facilities in the ten floors I was technically allowed to visit without setting off alarms and automatic assassin-involved manhunts. Movie theater, bowling alley, firing range- if you could dream it in more than six figures, this place had it.

"And three floors are left for private living," Pepper finished her speech.

Currently, we were standing in the elevator, listening to AC/DC over the speakers as we went up to God knows where. Honestly, I was just trying to comprehend most of this. There's opulence and extravagance, and then there's Avengers Tower.

"Um," I snapped out of my daze. "Private spaces?"

"Yes, for everybody who lives here either full time or only sometimes." Pepper bobbed her head in confirmation. "Tony and I have a floor to ourselves. The other two are split up between Bruce, Clint, Natasha, and Steve, when he visits. And Thor shows up every now and then, so there's a room set aside for him, but it's rarely ever used."

"Fun," I replied, without a lot of enthusiasm. "So, assuming that the movie theater isn't going to be my room for my stay here, where will I be sleeping?"

"Oh, I made sure one of the guest rooms was prepared for you," Pepper told me. Just then, the elevator doors dinged open.

We walked out into yet another hallway, but this one seemed cozier than the other ones. The floor wasn't gleaming but scuffed up, as if it got lots of traffic. There were four doors in the hallway- two on each side, staggered.

"Wait, are those... burn marks?" I frowned, noticing a cluster of ashy smears on the wall.

"Unfortunately, yes," Pepper wrinkled her nose. "I told Clint not to eat all of Nat's favorite jellybeans, but naturally, he went right ahead. The floor was locked down for a week while Nat took her revenge."

"I'd pay to see that, I chuckled. "Wait a second. Barton and Romanoff are on this floor?"

"Clint said it was part of 'observation detail', whatever that means," Pepper clarified. "If it makes you feel any better, I can contact Director Fury and get a list of Do's and Don'ts-"

"Of course," I grumbled. "So which one's mine?"

"The door at the end," Pepper started walking towards it, and I followed.

As we got to the door, I saw that somebody had taped up a full-fitting poster of the view to a jail cell, complete with bars, a little toilet, and even a rat. We both stared at it, the poster just sitting there in full laminated glory.

"Wonderful," I nodded, and exhaled sharply through my nose. "Glad to know I'm so welcome here."

"Oh my- I'm so sorry- I don't know-" Pepper spluttered, and yanked the poster down. "I didn't know that would be there. I'll talk to Clint and Tony-"

"It's fine," I waved it off, ignoring that little spark of bitterness that coiled in my gut. "Afterall, I did kinda choke Barton and nearly hit Tony with flying alley debris."

Before Pepper could say anything else, I twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

My jaw hit the floor before I could take more than a step inside.

"They told me your favorite color was grey," Pepper added as she walked into the room. "And that it'd be nice for you to have some open space... so I made sure everything would at least be nice for you."

It was amazing. 

The room was bigger than the last one I had stayed in, in the tower. I could do cartwheels around and still have heaps of wiggle room. The floor was some kind of wood, dark and smooth.

The bed was queen-sized and the small headboard was pressed against the right wall. The sheets, which were neatly folded back, were snow white, and so were the mounds of pillows stacked up. Lying on the sheets was a kitten-grey comforter that looked like it was made from baby duck fluff and marshmallows. And against the foot of the bed was a simple wooden chest.

My eyes drifted over to other furnishings littered around: the small desk pushed against the wall with a sleek computer on it, the open doors on the left wall for a walk-in closet, the nightstand next to the bed with a simple lamp on it, and the flat-screen television mounted into the wall so it was visible from the bed.

And then there was the window.

I couldn't even call it a window. The entire opposite wall was glass. Morning sunlight streamed in, and I could see that sun topping the skyscrapers and the city. My room faced the east, I noticed faintly. Just like my old one, the one that Mama saved for me back in our house...

"The computer's hooked up with Amazon and several other online stores, and you've got the WiFi password already," Pepper gestured to the desk as she moved over there. Pulling open one of the drawers, she began holding up some of the contents so I could see them. "There's a smartphone, already with all of our numbers plugged in. I put in a notebook and a couple of pencils too, just in case you wanted something like that."

"Oh..." I said wisely, eyes still wide as saucers.

"I know that you've only got the clothes that you're wearing, so you can order things you need online and they'll get delivered up here," Pepper continued. "And this decor doesn't have to stay like this. You're welcome to change it up however you want."

"It's..." I did another 360, taking everything in for a third time. "It's literally perfect. I don't know who's the telepath on your team who managed to scoop my brains out and make this room, but it's perfect."

"Good." Pepper beamed at me. "I'll just let you settle in for a while. Lunch isn't too far away, you're welcome to run down to the kitchen anytime. And JARVIS will tell you when we start dinner. Most days we don't do a group meal, but since you're here and Clint's staying too, which means Natasha's rooming as well, we just figured-"

"Okay, I'm gonna stop you there," I held out my hands, smiling tentatively. "This is fabulous. Really. I just need some time to catch my brain up to everything that's happening. And maybe take a shower or something, because quite frankly I can't remember the last time I bathed."

"Oh, of course!" Pepper nodded, and began to exit the room. "And if you need help with anything, just ask JARVIS."

The door clicked shut behind the woman, leaving me alone in this frankly over-my-price-range-or-that-of-any-figure-of-nobility bedroom. "Right," I said out loud. "Shower."

I made the mistake of walking straight into the bathroom.

Originally, I thought that the bathroom would be small, not fancy at all- toilet, shower, sink. That's all I needed. Heck, I lived in a dumpster for basically a year. I used the alley corner to relieve myself. I bathed when it rained, while wearing my clothes. But this...

This bathroom was big enough to hold eight of my dumpster homes in it. The bathtub, though, was only big enough for one.

Oh God, that bathtub. It was set into the ground like a pool and shaped in a circle, with two steps going down and a bench-shelf thing running around the edges. The whole surface area was tiled with gold and emerald mosaics, and even though the bath was empty, the bottom and sides were shiny and slick.

There was a conventional shower built into the left wall, with pale yellow surfaces and a shelf that held a few generic bottles of shampoo and other lovely rich things. On my left, on the left that was behind me, was actually a simple toilet. I half expected rhinestones or at least a jewel-embedded seat, but besides being spotless, it was completely ordinary.

To my right was a stand with an oval mirror, and I saw a bunch of generic toiletries set out already- but I knew instantly that Stark or Barton had gotten here before Pepper and I, because everything- the hair brush, the toothbrush, toothpaste, compact mirror, lip-gloss, _everything_ \- was Hello Kitty.

I kid you not. Hello Kitty had invaded this luxurious bathroom. So I did what I always did when confronted with cats wearing pink bows: I put the toilet to good use and flushed it all. Surprisingly, everything went down and didn't clog it up.

"Oh my God," I sighed when I took another step into the room and onto the fluffiest bath mat to ever fluffy. The little spoofs squished up between my bare toes like moss. Like the rest of the decor in here, it was in shades of green and gold, making the room seem like a sunlit forest. I wasn't really one for opulence, but I could get used to this.

"Shower. I'm here to take a show. Get a hold of yourself, Gale," I shook my head, muttering.

So I peeled off the stinky clothes that SHIELD gave me (probably 'cause it's under child abuse laws somewhere) and managed to turn the shower on. I mean, that handle thingy was just plain confusing.

Stepping into the stream of hot water, I sighed in relief as the dirt and the scum that clung to my skin washed away. Closing my eyes, I let the water run over my face. Jeez, it was like the water here was designer, it felt that good.

I reached for the shampoo and began to wash my hair- and do you know how long it's been since I've properly washed my hair? No, seriously, tell me. 'Cause I don't.

Once I was finished drooling over the joy of showering for the first time in a year, I managed to turn that newfangled handle thing off, and yanked a bathrobe off of a nearby rack.

Ruffling my hair out, I walked back into the bedroom, and over to that desk. Switching the computer on, I quickly located Amazon. It's not that I liked shopping- minimal human interaction was more my speed. But this way, I didn't have to talk to any peppy salespeople who shove hangars in your face. And it's not like those SHIELD clothes would last even a couple days more.

I grinned to myself, and clicked on the search bar.

Hello, credit card debt.


	15. Time for some interior decorating, a wardrobe change, and multidimensional tracks of magical energy

"And..." I leaned forward, biting my lip in concentration. "Send." I clicked the little box with the shopping cart on it.

I clapped my hands in triumph and leaned back in the swivel chair. "Oh, now I see how people can get addicted to that," I said to myself. Drumming my fingers on the armrests, I twisted to look at the window.

It was, by my estimate, around noon. Lunch rush traffic was clogging up the streets below, the muffled sounds of car engines and honks floated upwards, and the sun beat down mercilessly on the concrete maze of buildings and roads. The city was alive. Everybody was trying to get somewhere, to find someone, to have something. And that's humanity for you. Never really satisfied with what they've got, but always reaching one step further.

My stomach growled, and I looked down at my gut. "Guess it's time to eat, huh?" I stood up and stretched my arms over my head. I was still wearing that fluffy white bathrobe, and honestly, I'd die before putting on those old SHIELD clothes. So that meant I wasn't leaving the room until my shipment came- which, according to the priority option online, would be sometimes tomorrow.

"Hey, JARVIS?" I spoke up to the ceiling.

"Yes, Gale?" JARVIS responded immediately.

"Is there any chance I can get food sent up here?"

"Throughout the rest of the tower, you would have to go to the kitchen. But Agent Barton has requested and installed an automated pizza delivery system straight to his room, one that can be easily modified to fit your purposes. Would you like me to hijack that for you, Gale?"

"You're a mind reader, JARVIS," I grinned. "That'll be perfect."

So that's how I ended up spending the rest of my day in this new swanky room, munching on pizza and wiping my greasy fingers on the not-so-perfectly-white-anymore robe.

I walked around the room, thinking about what I'd change about it. Sure, I told Pepper it was perfect- and it was and would be even more perfect once I got to alter a few details. For instance: I wanted a couple of rugs. Persian rugs, to be exact. Just the cheap kind would do. My old house in Russia had the real deal. I used to drag them to one of the marble staircases and slid all the way down on them, sometimes with Sputnik and Cosmo at my sides...

I wrote down my decor ideas on that notepad that Pepper put in the desk, and used some tape to attach the pieces of paper around the room. It's how I worked things out- I needed space to go through my process. Walking around, sometimes flying, it all helped me think.

"Alright, Gale," I told myself as I sat down on the comfy bed. I placed the small notebook in front of me, and stared at it. "All you have to do is make it move. Just... just make it move..."

I concentrated, squeezing my eyes shut. I went through the motions of visualizing the wind, drawing it closer, winding it around and through my body. Opening up one eye, I saw that the notebook hadn't budged.

"Okay," I grumbled, got up, and turned on the air conditioning. It wasn't too cold or hot, but maybe I just needed some air movement to give me a kick start. "Take two."

I did the motions over again. Nothing happened. 

At this point, I was on the verge of losing my whole zen thing that I had going right now. Because if nothing had worked so far- not even the tiniest of breezes had listened to me- then it meant something was wrong.

You see, my legacy relied on my ability to control myself. It was like firing a gun: you have to steady your hand or your shot goes way off. And my hypothetical hands were shaking up a storm right now.

First, it was the cuffs. Losing my control completely in that alley- well, the last time that happened I was recuperating for three weeks. Granted, I did a lot more than rattle a dumpster and throw a few bricks around, but losing control was losing control, no matter how you looked at it. 

And then there was the cage. God, if there was one thing I was truly terrified of, it was a cage. My legacy was never meant to be bridled. Cages meant darkness and hunger and the raw kind of pain that tore you up but you couldn't imagine your life without it. And cages were metal... I was the wind and the sky and untamed freedom, and metal was the earth and dense and constricting. We were like oil and water.

Then the lake dream. And when I had the lake dream, the other dreams followed, no matter how hard I tried to fight them off. And after the dreams... I'm never in good shape. Sometimes it lasts for months. And sometimes, I don't think I've ever made it back to good, not ever since I first slipped up.

"Gale, Miss Potts would like to inform you that herself, Mr. Stark, and Dr. Banner have Chinese takeout. It is currently seven in the evening. Would you like to go to the communal room and dine with them?" JARVIS's voice suddenly issued from the ceiling.

I startled, panicked, and consequently forgot why somebody was talking to me through the roof. Crossing my arms in front of me in defense, I heard a slap of paper on wood.

"I did not mean to scare you, Gale," JARVIS assured me.

I lowered my arms and stared at the notebook, which was now lying on the floor across the room.

"Tell them I'm just gonna stay here tonight," I said absentmindedly, focusing on the notebook.

"Very well, Gale."

I didn't really know for sure if JARVIS was gone- I guess he never really was _gone_ gone- but my room was silent, so I took that to mean I was alone.

I walked over to the notebook and slowly picked it back up, turning it over in my hands. I tried to be logical in everything I did- actions had consequences, causes made events, paths led to more intersections. I tried to foresee every outcome and choose the action that benefited myself the most. 

But my legacy, it wasn't exactly cooperating with logic right now. Logically, I _should_ be able to knock the door off its hinges with a snap, but I couldn't even flutter a piece of paper. Logically, I _should_ already be flying away from this tower with scraps of the stupid cuffs hanging behind me, but I couldn't even connect with the slightest of breezes.

I set the notebook back down on the desk, and collapsed onto the bed on my stomach. Ugh. It was like having the flu. I was disconnected with my surroundings, my body just plain hurt (though that might be from basically falling off of those gyms rafters), and I was exhausted.

Hm... maybe just a light nap would do. I was pretty good at sleeping lightly, so I wouldn't exactly have to worry about nightmares... and besides, my head was already buried in the mounds of white pillows...

I think I heard footsteps passing by my door at one point, but I was already shutting down... God, I was ready to just _sleep_... 

Even though I woke up to sunlight, I didn't feel completely miserable.

Groaning, I rubbed my eyes with my fists and squinted around the room. It took me a second to remember why I was in a super-duper fancy bedroom, but I got there eventually.

I glared at the window that took up that entire wall in revenge for waking me up in such a cruel fashion. But that wasn't a good idea, seeing as I only doubled the pain of my already-scorched retinas.

"JARVIS," I groaned, flopping back on the bed.

"Yes, Gale?" JARVIS immediately responded.

"How long was I out?"

"By my calculations, you slept for just over nine hours. It is currently seven in the morning. The weather is warm with a high of eighty-six degrees Fahrenheit, and it is expected to cool off to seventy-three degrees by six in the evening."

"Wait," I stopped the AI. "Nine? Nine hours? You're kidding me."

"Although I am programmed to recognize several jokes, I am not delivering one, Gale."

A giddy smile broke out on my face. "Nine hours. And I didn't even dream." I let out a cheerful _whoop_ and stared up at the ceiling. "Today's gonna be a great day."

"I would also like to inform you that several packages have arrived from various shipping companies and are being delivered up to this floor. I believe you ordered them. Would you like me to send them straight to your room?"

"That's be perfect, JARVIS," I grinned. "I could definitely get used to this."

Two minutes later, I heard someone walking down the hall. Well, more like shuffling. It sounded like they were pushing something heavy across the floor- it must've been the delivery personnel.

I opened the door and was greeted by the sight of a man with his fist raised, ready to knock. A large cardboard box- easily tall enough to come up to my waist- was sitting to his right.

"Oh- um-" The man stuttered upon seeing me in my bathrobe.

"Relax," I deadpanned. "The robe is tied on tight. You ain't gonna see nothing you're not s'posed to see."

"Uh, okay..." He gestured to the box. "This is yours... right?"

"Apparently so," I took a few steps towards the box and began to push it into my room. "Overnight shipping really is overnight. Huh. Who'd 'a thought?"

I kicked the door closed behind me without looking back. Focusing on the box, I frowned as I took in the packaging. It wasn't too battered, so it obviously had been given priority status. Well, it did say Stark's name on the bill. And there were no 'FRAGILE' stickers on it, or 'THIS END UP'. So that meant these were all of the clothes I ordered.

I managed to cut the tape holding the box closed by stabbing it with a pen repeatedly. Eh. I wasn't gonna waste my time looking for a pair of scissors.

Inside were stacks of neatly folded fabric and cloth, cotton and denim and polyester- it had been years since I'd seen that much clothes in one place that I could take. Besides Walmart, of course, because I had to get my dumpster supplies somewhere.

"Ah, you have no idea how long it's been since I've worn something that wasn't from a donation box, was given to me by a secret government organization bent on destroying my life, or was mended so many times I could've knitted a whole new garment with the sewing thread." I said aloud as I pulled out a random assortment of clothes.

Rushing to the bathroom, I quickly changed into a fresh pair of black sweatpants, a deep blue t-shirt, and a set of really plush white socks with yellow happy faces on them. Hey, don't judge. I spent a year wearing the same socks each day. I'm entitled to happy faces. But just as I was brushing out my hair, there was a knock at my door.

Frowning, I yanked my hair back in a rough ponytail before walking back out into the room, and opening the door.

Barton was standing there, dressed in jeans and a black shirt, a disgruntled look on his face. "I'm-"

"Oh heck no," I said promptly, and shut the door in his face. Spinning around, I sat down in the swivel chair at my desk and began typing on the computer.

I heard the door open again to my right, and groaned. "You know," I started, searching the computer screen for the details of this tower's schematics. "I was off to a really good start. Actually fell asleep without waking up in the night screaming, got up to a bright blue morning sky, one of my shipments came, and look!"

Without turning my body, I kicked up my right leg so Barton could see. "Happy face socks!"

"God, you're such a child," Barton grumbled. "What next, unicorn onesies?"

"Why, you got a pair I can borrow?" I fired back.

"Stop making it so hard to hold a civil conversation with you!" Barton threw up his hands.

"Fine!" I spun the chair around to face the man, crossing my arms. "Talk."

"I'm here to..." Barton muttered, the end dropping off into nothingness.

"Scuse me?" I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't get the last bit."

"Apologize," Barton glared at me. "I'm here to apologize."

"Huh," I rocked back in the chair, studying him. "Who's making you do this?"

"Nat," Barton answered, rolling his eyes. "So, before she makes me the distraction on our next mission, I have to apologize to you."

A grin slowly spread over my face. "Do continue."

Barton huffed. "I'm sorry for being a jerk to you about your parents and about your gifts."

I mulled his words over in my head, tapping the tips of my fingers together in a rapid pattern. "I don't accept."

"What?" Barton was taken aback.

"I don't accept your apology," I repeated. Before Barton could interrupt, I plowed on. "You said Romanoff made you apologize. That means you don't truly mean what you just said to me. Therefore, your apology is considered null and void, and you'll have to make up for the false 'sorry' before you can apologize again- and you'll have to really mean it that time."

Barton glared at me again but didn't say anything. "Fine. What do I have to do?"

"Oh," I shook my head. "If you're gonna be my personal government-issued stalker, you're gonna have to know a few things about me. First, don't ever ask me open ended questions that involve you doing something for me. You _will_ regret it."

"So what, you want something big?"

I angled the computer screen so Barton could see, and tapped on the diagram of the Avenger Tower. "See, Pepper left a nice little digital reminder for me. I found it when I first logged on. She gave me access to the complete schematics, given a few limitations due to security reasons. Basically, I can click on a floor or an area and this computer will tell me if my handy dandy cuffs allow me to go there without setting off any alarms."

"And..." Barton trailed off.

"I want to go up to the roof." I said promptly. "Apparently, that's under the 'supervision required' section. So now that you owe me for that fake apology and for what you've done to me, you've got to let me up there."

Barton lowered his head. "I really hope you're not going to be like this all the time," he muttered.

I laughed and stood up, stretching my arms behind my back. "Darling, you've got no idea."

I walked by Barton and out of my room, and began striding down the hall. Barton hurried up beside me, his huge gait making me double my pace to keep up. I hopped into the elevator, Barton standing on the opposite side from me.

"JARVIS? Take me to the kitchen," I said aloud.

"Certainly, Gale," JARVIS replied, and the elevator began to descend.

"Whoa, I thought we were going to the roof," Barton frowned.

"Oh, we are," I said casually. "I'm just hungry."

As soon as the elevator doors dinged open, I hustled out and found the kitchen before Barton even realized I was gone. Grabbing a couple of muffins and a wad of napkins, I raced back to the elevator. Barton raised his eyebrows at me.

"What?" I scoffed. "Sure, blame the girl who can fly for wanting to be in the open air as soon as possible."

The elevator moved back up, the machine hum splitting the quiet.

"Speaking of which," Barton said as the doors opened for the second time. "How does that work? Last time I checked, you said your magic mojo deals with the wind. How does flying factor into it?"

We stepped out into a short hallway with a metal door at the end. Barton pulled out a thin keycard from his pocket and swiped it through a small panel to the side of the door. A little green light turned on, and Barton swung the door open.

"I _do_ control the wind. I can't specifically levitate myself. It's more like... more like..." I trailed off as I stepped into the sunlight.

We were on the very top of the Avenger Tower, which was a gravel-covered surface about the length and width of a couple classrooms smushed side by side. Enough run to have maybe fifteen, twenty people mill around comfortably. And the view... kings and queens would've sold their souls to get this view of New York City.

But the best part wasn't the fact that you could see every skyscraper from here. It wasn't the fact that nobody else was here. It was the fact that it was a windy day, and I was standing on top of one of the tallest buildings.

"Yeah, that's what I did when I first came up here," Barton chuckled at me as I turned in circles, taking everything in.

Closing my eyes, I felt the wind ripple through my clothes, whipping my hair around in tiny circles. For what seemed like the first time in forever, I could hear the winds whispering, talking to each other. But there was something else, another sound that was tied in with the wind... a thrum that shook in my chest like the growl of a beast.

"You're kidding me," I said faintly, in shock. Opening my eyes, I stared at Barton. "Do you even know where we are?"

Barton took a couple steps toward me, boots crunching on the gravel. "You got a concussion or something? Because I'm fairly certain I know where we are. Avenger Tower, New York City-"

"No, no, no," I huffed impatiently. Gesturing out to the open view of the city, I looked back at the man. "Where we are! Exactly where we are! Do you even have a clue?"

Barton held up his hands. "Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?"

I leaned forward quickly and smacked Barton on the shoulder. "You idiot." Grabbing his elbow, I dragged him to the edge of the roof.

"Whoa," Barton eyed the drop below us. "You're the one that can fly, remember? Not me."

"I highly doubt I could fly right now, given that I'm way off kilter with my legacy," I made a face. "But this is the best place possible for me to re-calibrate, to get back to full strength! If you wanted me to stay weak and powerless, well, you picked the wrong location."

"I'm still not following," Barton gave me a look. 

Pointing out across the city, to the south-east, I took another tiny step towards the edge. "Try and see what I'm talking about. I know you normal humans can. I've met a few."

"What the heck are you looking at?"

I groaned and threw my head back. "Humans. Blind as naked mole rats. Never seeing what's right in front of them."

Barton crossed his arms. "Are you going to keep insulting me? Because I took you to the roof. Technically, I can shove you back in the tower with sullying my crystal clear conscious."

I rolled my eyes, and sat down cross legged on the gravel, a bit away from the edge. "It's a ley line, stupid. This tower is built right on the center of a ley line."

"A what?" Barton said, bewildered.

I squinted up at him. "Do they teach you _anything_ useful at SHIELD?"

"They taught me how to kill a person with a paperclip in twenty seven ways under a minute," Barton replied, sitting down a couple feet away from me.

"Nice," I made a face. "But I'm talking about interdimensional paths of inherent energy crossing the globe, not Office Assassination 101."

"Interdimensional paths of inherent energy," Barton repeated, eyebrows raised at me.

"Did I stutter?" I replied smoothly. "I think my English is good enough to say that without stumbling."

"Okay," Barton nodded slowly, forehead wrinkled in concentration. "So magical finger paintings in the ground are good for you."

I put my head in my hands and groaned. "Is there a maximum IQ level to join SHIELD? Like, if you're smarter than a toaster you can't work there?"

"Just tell me what these ley lines are," Barton grumbled.

I chuckled slightly. "Hold your horses, turbo." 

I straightened my back, eager at the prospect of explaining this. "See, ley lines are like trenches of pure energy that crisscross the earth. They emit a kind of force that reacts to everything. Well, everything slightly more than..." I trailed off. "Entirely human."

"So you're saying you're an alien?" Barton raised an eyebrow at me.

I snorted. "If you don't want me to insult you, you might wanna keep your mouth shut." I began gesturing in the air pantomiming lines and orbits. "Ley lines have been here since before humans. So the average member of our species is evolved enough to not be affected by the lines. But they're still there, and with enough practice and a bit of inborn talent, some normal humans can work with the ley lines."

Barton was looking more confused by the second. I stifled another groan of exasperation and continued on. "Ley lines are good for traveling, for fortune, for a lot of things, really. But especially for me, ley lines make it easier to control my legacy. The amount of energy passing through the lines acts like a river, sweeping away the debris and the stagnation. Like interdimensional highways."

"Huh." Barton said simply.

I raised my eyebrows. "'Huh'? That's it? I just told you about magical roads across the globe and all I get is 'huh'?"

Barton shrugged. "I've been mind-controlled by a Norse god. Magic stuff just doesn't seem to wow me anymore."

"Figures," I muttered.

Barton scooped up a handful of gravel from where he was sitting, and began playing with it in his hands. "So... I've got to ask you something."

"Don't expect an answer."

"You call your powers a 'legacy', which implies it's something passed down generation to generation," Barton reasoned. "Are your parents like you?"

I stared at Barton in shock. I honestly didn't expect him to come to that conclusion so quickly. "Uh..."

"What? Didn't think I'd be smarter than that toaster?" Barton cracked a grin.

"How did you..." I shook my head in confusion.

"I'm an assassin," Barton reminded me. "It's my job to pick up on the details."

"Oh." I nodded slightly, and turned forwards, away from Barton. 

We just sat in silence for a minute, watching the city glitter. I looked down at my crossed legs, swirling the gravel around with my fingers. Barton actually wasn't being annoying, for once. It was really nice.

"They were," I suddenly spoke. "Like me, that is."

I could hear Barton shift around in his seat, but he didn't say anything else.

"How else did you think I managed to stay hidden from you guys for so long?" I let out a short and humorless laugh. "Invisibility isn't one of my powers. I was bound to need some help"

"How come you never say 'gift'?" Barton asked. "You always refer to your powers as your legacy or- well, 'powers'."

"Do you honestly believe I'd think they were a gift?" I raised my eyebrows. "Look what they did to me. If I wasn't one of your ' _gifted_ individuals', I'd be living in _normal_ Russia, going to school like a _normal_ fifteen year-old, and having a completely _normal_ life."

"Sucks to be special, doesn't it?" Barton said.

I chuckled. "You've got no clue, Pigeonbutt."

"Hawkeye," Barton glared at me. " _Hawkeye_."

"Sure thing, Penguinfart."

"Why you little-"

"Ooh, don't sprain something trying to find a good insult."

"I will throw you off this roof."

"Eh. I've had worse."

"Really? I've been hit in the gut with a shotgun once. Couldn't sit straight for a month."

"I took a knife between my seventh and eighth ribs."

"Threw myself off a train into a pile of brambles."

"Got a crowbar across my back, five times."

"Three nights sitting on a freezing chimney in Siberia."

"A week sitting on a freezing chimney in Siberia."

"I took three arrows to my body, each one of them barbed."

"Two blow darts to my neck, both poisoned."

"Jesus, what've you been doing in your fifteen years of life?"

"Surviving. Wreaking vengeance. It's a great substitute for cardio."

"Vengeance? You sound like a crummy comic book."

"Your face is a crummy comic book."

"Hey, I'm quite good-looking."

"Yeah, whatever you say. Oh, by the way, I heard you walked into a haunted house and came out with an application."

"Are we talking about monsters now? Because I gotta say, your Chainsaw Massacre Extra makeup is on point."

"I will end you."

"Sure you can reach me? Why don't you go ask your precious ley lines to give you a booster seat? Then we'll see."

...

"WHAT THE FRICK GALE DON'T THROW GRAVEL IN MY FACE!"

"I'M HELPING IT YOU IDIOT!"


	16. Hot chocolate and— Christ, is that actually emotion I feel?

"So, Gale," Pepper said, taking a sip of water. "I'm glad you decided to join us for dinner."

I clenched my fists under the table, and shot Pepper a forced smile across the table. "No problem."

Barton snickered through a mouthful of pasta. "Yeah, she totally wanted to come."

Pepper gave me a confused look, but I shrugged. "It was that or get shot with an electric arrow. I'm not eager to repeat that experience."

"Clint!" Pepper scolded him, dropping her fork.

"What?" Clint protested. "Bruce said it would be good for her to actually talk to people on a regular basis!"

"Dr. Banner!" I said indignantly, turning to look at the doctor, who so far had been silent.

"I just suggested it," Dr. Banner said meekly. "I didn't tell Clint to threaten you."

"Yeah, that's not Bruce's fault. I actually wanted to threaten you."

"Just when I thought you weren't completely annoying-"

"Why don't we just calm down for minute-" Pepper suggested. Dr. Banner, who was sitting on my left, nodded in agreement.

"You're the one that's completely annoying," Barton faced me.

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, you've done nothing but ensure my containment here with jabs at my dignity and personality."

"Pretty sure you've done the same."

"Guys-" Dr. Banner said in a warning tone.

"You know what, you kinda remind me of teenage me."

"Ew!" I made a face. "Now _that's_ just plain rude."

"Yeah, it's supposed to be. I was a complete jerk."

"Guys!" Dr. Banner said again.

"What?!" Barton and I snapped in unison, turning to face Dr. Banner.

"Gale, could you just take a couple of deep breaths and..." the doctor pointed up at the ceiling. "Get my food down from there?"

I glared at the bowl of pasta that was floating five feet above our heads. Rolling my eyes, I concentrated on my breathing...in and out... in and out... The bowl began to slowly descend through the air at a steady pace. Everything was fine.

"She looks like she's farting," Barton whispered on my right.

The bowl crashed down onto the table, sending pasta flying upwards in a spectacular display. "You know what, Barton?" I said sharply. "You try bending a primal force of nature to your will on a daily basis!"

"Gale!" Pepper raised her voice. I looked at her in slight shock- Pepper never really did that. "Please, let's keep this civil. I know that you and Clint don't get along well- Clint don't you dare open your mouth- but let's try to prevent any damage, okay?'"

"Fine." I huffed, swirling my fork in the pasta. "As long as he doesn't antagonize me, I'll play cool."

"Ditto," Barton added before stuffing an entire slice of garlic bread in his mouth.

"And I still want rooftop priviledges," I said as the thought popped into my head. "Even though this afternoon ended in a gravel fight."

"A what?" Dr. Banner frowned, flicking a noodle off of his sweater.

"Gravel fight," I repeated. "Which I would've won if Barton had not thrown me over his shoulder like a stupid sack of ungodly potatoes and carried me back screaming into the tower."

"I thought a cat had gotten loose," Pepper said, staring at me.

Barton snickered. "You should really put on some more weight, Gale. I'm no expert, but I don't think fifteen year-olds are supposed to weigh close to nothing."

"Petty, Barton," I told him. "Just petty."

But Pepper eyed me with a strange look. "You've hardly touched your food, Gale."

I threw my hands up in the air. "I was homeless for a year! So what? Are you really gonna take Birdbrain here seriously?"

"It's Hawkeye, you fricking child," Barton glared at me.

"Are you feeling alright?" Dr. Banner asked me, concerned. "Clint's right, though. You're awfully thin."

My eyes were wide. "I can't believe you guys are doing this to me. You know what? Peace out, guys. I'm heading off for the night." I stood up from my chair and began to walk out of the kitchen.

"Gale-" Pepper started.

"Good _night_!" I called without looking back, and made my way up to my room.

Collapsing on my bed, I placed a pillow over my face and yelled into it for a good solid minute or two. Jesus, just when I tried to be nice, Barton went and screwed it up. Again.

"JARVIS, time?" I groaned, taking the pillow off of my face.

"It is currently seven fifty-eight in the evening, Gale."

I forced myself upright and walked over to the window, looking out at the city. "JARVIS, can you make this, I dunno, dimmer?"

"Certainly."

The windows immediately faded darker, until only the faintest of lights was visible. It faced the east, so the sun was setting on the opposite end of the tower. Which meant I could fall sleep much easier, to my great gratitude.

"Thanks. You can go. Or leave. Or whatever the heck you do."

"Very well, Gale. Goodnight."

"'Night."

I stumbled back over to my bed and slipped under the blankets, not bothering to change out of my clothes. Street clothes could be pajamas if you were tired enough, afterall.

But the second that my breathing became deep and even, and I started to drift off, I shook myself awake again. Stupid! I knew better than to fall asleep. That was a death wish, wasn't it?

Although...

I had nine solid hours of shut-eye last night without a single dream. And honestly, just because I had the lake dream didn't necessarily mean that I'd have more nightmares after that. Right? Besides, I needed the sleep. If I really was going to work myself back up to full strength, I was gonna need all the rest I could get.

So I lay my head back down on the pillows again, and with only a fleeting moment of hesitation, closed my eyes.

I didn't even stand a chance.

_"Sputnik!" I cried out. "Cosmo!"_

_Turning around, my feet crunched over the blanket of pine needles that covered the forest floor. The tree branches swayed in the wind above me, throwing the remaining sunlight around in dizzying spirals._

_"Sputnik!" I called again. But I couldn't hear anything apart from the whispering breeze that tore at my thin sweater._

_What was I doing out here? Mama told me to go out and play with the dogs because five year-olds are s'posed to be active, but then we went too far into the woods and now I couldn't find Sputnik and Cosmo and now the daylight was fading._

_I was scared._

_"Mama?" I whimpered. "Papa?"_

_The trees were laughing at me._

_Why hadn't my legacy settled yet? Yesterday I held a candle flame in my hands without getting burned, but Mama said it wasn't my legacy. I didn't understand. Why couldn't I have my legacy? Anything right now would be useful. Anything._

_I started walking off in one direction, hoping that it would lead me to Mama. But a minute turned to five, which turned to fifteen, and soon enough it had been an hour and I still couldn't find Mama._

_The day was all gone now, and I could barely see my hand in front of my face._

_"Help me!" I cried to the forest._

_The trees laughed._

_Whisper whisper creak laugh._

_Whisper creak sigh whisper laugh._

_The same patterns and sounds, over and over again. The trees were laughing at me._

_I let out a dry sob and curled up on the ground, away from every tree that surrounded me. I was never going to find my way out of the forest. I was going to be here forever, wandering, crying, hopeless-_

_Then a blaze of light flared up somewhere far ahead of me, like a molten sun that cut through the black night._

_"Mama?" I said in a tiny voice, daring to hope._

_The light never flickered, just grew stronger._

_"Mama!" I shouted, and leaped to my feet. I sprinted towards the light, tripping over tree roots numerous times but not caring._

_All of a sudden, the trees vanished around me and I burst out onto the grass field behind my house. Mama was standing nearby, arms stretched out like a bird. Fire was rolling off of her in waves and curling far above her head, but the ground wasn't burning and neither was her skin._

_"Mama!" I hiccuped, tears running down my face._

_"Gale!" Mama cried and turned to me, her eyes like pure gold. I raced to meet her, and by the time I reached her, the fire was vanished._

_Mama grabbed me and held me tight against her, rocking back and forth. I was crying into her shoulder, her skin still warm to the touch. Glittering swirls of fire-like marks swirled across Mama's skin, dancing like the flames had._

_"Don't ever do that again, baby. Don't ever do that again," Mama murmured into my ear._

_"I won't, Mama," I promised in my small voice. "I won't."_

_"Oh, Gale," Mama leaned back, still holding me, and smiled at me, relieved. "You'll be the death of me."_

_Suddenly, the ground dropped away. I fell backwards into the darkness, Mama's arms disappearing around me. But I could still hear her voice, echoing in my skull._

_Death of me._

_You'll be the death of me._

_Death of me death of me deathofmedeathofmedeathofme_

_"Mama!"_

I shot upright, lungs heaving. Everything was pitch black just like the forest and I couldn't hear anything apart from the heartbeat racing in my ears-

"Gale?" Someone's voice came from above me.

Instinctively, I grabbed the nearest hard object my hands could find and threw it at the source of the voice. 

"Gale, I believe you are in distress," the voice said again.

"What-" I panted raggedly, fists knotted in the blankets. "Where am I-"

"You are in your bedroom in Avengers Tower, Gale."

I blinked furiously and wiped the sweat out of my eyes. "The forest- but-"

"You are in distress," the voice repeated. JARVIS, I realized. That was JARVIS. "Would you like me to contact help for you?"

"No," I waved a hand in the air. "No. I'm- I'm fine." 

"My protocols insist that I summon assistance for all those in need of it. It will only take a moment-"

"I don't need assistance," I said firmly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. 

"But-"

"You can turn on the lights if you want. That'll make me feel better."

JARVIS was quiet for a beat. "Very well, Gale," he said, but he didn't sound too happy about it. The lights in my room switched on, filling the space with dim light.

Brushing the wisps of hair out of my face, I sucked in a deep breath. Slowly getting to my feet, I swayed for a moment before I could find my balance.

Looking behind me, I saw that the hard object I had thrown at the ceiling was the desk lamp. It had hit the ceiling and came back down on the bed. The bulb had cracked but not shattered, which I guess was a stroke of good luck for me.

It suddenly felt too hot in this room. My clothes were sticking to my skin with sweat, my hair was frizzy and plastered to my face and the back of my neck- it was all too much for me.

I peeled off my socks and tossed them on the floor, and walked out of my room. The hallway was dark, but I could see well enough to know where the walls were. Still shivering from the fright and not from the chilly air, I stepped into the elevator.

I was still numb to the world, so numb that I didn't even specify where I was going. But the elevator dropped me off on the communal floor, so I guess that was good enough.

Stumbling into the kitchen, the lights coming on as soon as I entered, I grasped the cool counter-top with my hands and forced myself to take a deep breath. I tried to calm my racing pulse, but the dream kept playing back over again in my head.

_You'll be the death of me, Gale._

_Death of me._

_You'll be the death of me._

A roll of paper towels standing on the counter-top suddenly went flying upwards, crashing into the ceiling.

"No, no, no," I said desperately to myself. "Get a hold of yourself, Gale-"

This time, a drawer to my right began to rattle open, the silverware inside clattering against each other. Everything seemed so loud, everything was going wrong, the cupboard doors were threatening to rip off their hinges, the stacks of plastic cups inside them were shaking-

"No!" I raised my voice and slammed my hands down on the counter-top.

Immediately, everything stopped moving. Dead silence.

I groaned and rested my forehead on the cool surface. A sick and ugly feeling ran down my spine and into my gut, raising goosebumps along my arms. 

I needed to distract myself. I needed to get my mind off of what had just happened.

So I started by picking up all of the things that I had inadvertently thrown about, like the roll of paper towels and a couple of plastic cups. Then I closed all of the drawers and cabinet doors, and then everything looked normal.

"Okay," I told myself. "That's a start."

What else could I do?

An idea struck me, so I peeked my head into the pantry to see what was in there. Sure enough, I saw what I needed to make hot chocolate: cocoa powder, marshmallows, and of course, the milk which was in the fridge.

So I prepared a simple mug of piping hot chocolate, and sprinkled a little cinnamon in there for good measure. Taking a sip, I felt the warm liquid run down my throat and settle in my stomach. Honestly, that was one of my favorite sensations, especially when it was cold out. I closed my eyes, humming softly to myself in enjoyment.

This was better. Already I could feel the tension begin to ease. Slowly but surely, I shut down the scared part of my mind. It was something that I did on a daily basis. And soon enough I felt almost back to normal. I guess I was just too good at closing my emotions off.

I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that I didn't even notice someone enter the kitchen.

"Oh," a voice came from in front of me. "I didn't think anyone else was up."

Opening my eyes, I saw Dr. Banner standing there, blinking blearily in the light. "I was just getting some hot chocolate," I held up my mug. Then I noticed that Dr. Banner's hair was rumpled on one side as if he'd dozed off on his desk, and his two-sizes-too-big lab coat was wrinkled and stained at the hem with coffee.

"Trouble sleeping?" I guessed. Dr. Banner nodded wearily, and sat down at the table on the opposite side of me.

Turning around, I quickly made another cup of hot chocolate, and walked over to the table. Handing it to Dr. Banner, I saw him flinch for a moment before accepting it.

"Nightmares," I said, not even bothering to phrase it like a question.

Dr. Banner lowered his head, hands grasping the mug. I sat down across from him, taking another sip of my hot cocoa.

"Yeah, they'll take the fight outta anyone," I said out loud, tracing a pattern on the table with my finger. "'Cause in the end, you're fighting your own mind."

"How do you even fight?" Dr. Banner muttered into his mug. "It's impossible."

"Well, everything's impossible until you've done it," I shrugged. "It's the belief that impossibility is reality that gets in your way."

"But my nightmares are realities," Dr. Banner sighed heavily. "I dream about the times when I've- when the Other Guy's hurt people- and I can't do anything about it."

"Hm," I mused, thinking about it. "And that's why you go without sleep for days."

"Sometimes I'm helping Tony with an experiment," Dr. Banner defended. "But yeah, that's mainly the reason."

"Okay," I set my mug down on the table. "So you're scared of letting the Hulk out."

"Obviously," Dr. Banner rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "What else would I be scared of?"

"Oh, lots of stuff," I replied promptly. "There's a ton of terrifying things in the world that any sane person would be scared of. For example, I can't walk past a duck without flinching."

Dr. Banner gave me a weird look.

"Traumatic childhood experience involving meat pies and cannibalistic waterfowl," I waved a hand aimlessly. "My point is that it sucks, okay?"

He was about to interrupt me again, but I continued. "It sucks having a lot of power that you don't have a lot of control over. It sucks that you don't know exactly how far you'll go, so you have to keep yourself in check the entire time. And it _really_ sucks because you're stuck with that. Look, Dr. Banner, avoiding the Hulk won't make his cease to exist. It'll make him angrier. More pent-up aggression will rocket around in your head until you explode."

"Gee, thanks," Dr. Banner grumbled, almost too soft for me to hear it. But I did. 

"Hey!" I reached forward and smacked the doctor upside the head.

"What was that for?" Dr. Banner yelped and rubbed the back of his skull.

"Knocking some sense into you, obviously," I said dryly. "You have to face the hand you've been dealt, Dr. Banner. Because no matter how bad it is, folding and giving up will just make it worse."

"I hardly think my situation can get worse-"

"Silence," I glared at him. "Self-pity is useless and helps no one. If you want to be worth saving, _prove it_. Get over the fact that you're stuck with a terrible lot and actually try to make something out of it."

Dr. Banner just stared at me for a second. "Why're you telling me this?"

I stood up from my seat and began walking towards the door. "Because," I paused and looked over my shoulder at him. "I had to find that out the hard way. Nobody's gonna help you until they think you're worth the effort. The benefit of the doubt only exists in the minds of fools who throw their trust about willy-nilly and dreamers whose dreams flew a bit too close to the sun. Everybody's dying, but at least own up to what's killing you."

I shrugged offhandedly. "I'm not saying it'll definitely make a difference, facing your fear. Maybe that's just a phrase told to children to get them to sleep peacefully in the middle of a storm. But storms are as quick and as sharp as steel, and if you're tied to them, moaning about the cold won't warm your bones."

Dr. Banner's mouth hung a bit open in shock. 

"Sleep well, doctor," I told him, and turned my back to him.

With that, I quietly exited the kitchen and made my way up to my room in the darkness. I didn't hear anyone else walking around, which was a relief. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone else.

When I got to my room, I ended up sitting with my back against the right wall, between the desk and the window. Staring out at the city, I just watched the flickering lights and the tracks of red and white that raced along the streets. The sky was between black and midnight blue, and I couldn't see any stars due to the pollution. New York was good and bad at the same time- you became addicted to the smell of smoke that choked you, you had to savor the ceaseless noises that made a riot of color and sound. You had to fall in love with going nowhere and always wanting to be somewhere else.

New York was beautiful and ugly, all at once.

I was only half of that.


	17. Hate you back

Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night. Or morning, depending on what the time was. 

What, were you thinking that I would conquer my inner demons valiantly and then peacefully doze off with my hair spread in a perfect halo behind my head on silk pillows?

If you're looking for _that_ kind of a story, don't even bother listening to this one. I'm not even sure that my story is a story anymore. It's more like an original Grimm's Fairy Tale, if ya know what I mean.

Anyway, I basically spent that bunch of hours between when I woke up to nine in the morning just watching the city and practicing my legacy. Making pencils roll off the desk, sending papers flying, that sort of thing. Honestly, I'd like to say that I recovered quickly from what affected me and now could summon hurricanes without breaking a sweat, but alas, that wasn't the case.

Within the week, I wagered, I'd be back at full strength, if I worked hard enough at it.

But there was a catch: my arms.

The cuts I had made in my sleep weren't healing quickly. Dr. Banner said that he might switch out the bandages if it took much longer, but I knew that wouldn't exactly help.

See, with my people, wounds inflicted on a person under emotional distress or inner conflict tended to leave deeper marks. The injuries took longer to heal. They were more likely to get infected. And the one thing that helped them get better the most was the victim's legacy, which I ever so fortunately did not have complete control over.

Hence the practicing.

Also I really wanted to hit Barton in the face with a south wind. That too.

"Hey JARVIS?" I called up at the ceiling.

"Yes, Gale?"

"Start the coffee machine, will ya? I'm heading down to the kitchen in a couple of minutes." I said as I opened my closet doors and started rifling through the hangars. Using a legacy to heal yourself wasn't exactly easy for someone like me... so I needed to make sure I was as in tune as possible when I tried it. 

"Certainly, Gale."

Okay, if I was going to try one of Alexei's tricks with healing I needed to match the wind as best I could, so... I yanked out a pair of dark linen pants and a simple grey t-shirt. Perfect. Wind colors.

I didn't even bother with shoes, socks, or even a jacket. That just made things more complicated than they needed to be. But I did grab a hair-tie from the bathroom, and yanked my hair back into a quick pony-tail.

Then I opened the door and trotted out to the elevator, and then went down to the kitchen. It was mid-morning by now, and the sun shone brightly in through the huge windows.

"Morning," I greeted Pepper, who was reading a newspaper at the kitchen table.

"Morning, Gale," she looked up at me and smiled. "Sleep well?"

"Decent enough," I replied, and pulled down a mug from the cupboard. Pouring some delicious coffee in it, I snagged a bagel from the fridge and walked to the table, peering at Pepper's newspaper as I passed her.

"Sudden decrease in crime," I read off of it, taking a seat near the woman. "You've got your boyfriend to thank for that."

"Yes," Pepper agreed, but frowned a little.

"What? You two break up?" I asked. "Sorry, that was blunt."

"No, it's just that with all these superheroes running around, there's more supervillians doing the same," Pepper sighed, sipping her tea. "Now it's more dangerous for ordinary folk to be involved with those sorts of things."

"Of course," I nodded, a wry smile on my lips. "Who knows when a powered person will lose control and hurt innocent people?"

"Oh, Gale," Pepper set down her paper and looked at me apologetically. "I didn't mean it like that-"

"It's not your fault," I waved a hand, cutting her off. "SHIELD just wants to stop potential threats before they get too dangerous." I paused, taking a gulp of coffee. "Or to voting age," I muttered under my breath.

"I'll try and talk to Tony, maybe he can pull some strings at SHIELD and they'll cut you some slack," Pepper offered.

"Don't bother," I shook my head. "I've given them enough reason to lock me up. Afterall, I evaded capture, choked a high-ranking agent, and basically wrecked a perfectly good alley. People've been thrown in jail for less."

"But you're just a kid," Pepper reasoned. "Surely they can't-"

"Oh, they can," I nodded. "Believe me- people are scared of what they don't know and what they can't control. SHIELD was created to know everything and be able to control everything. I'm a rogue variable, that's all. The sooner they crush my spirit and all hopes of living by myself again, the sooner I'll get out of this tower."

"You're awfully pessimistic," Pepper noted.

"Everybody seems so eager to point that out," I remarked, chewing a bite of bagel. "How many times do I have to say that I'm still always right?"

"Hey, sweetie," a new voice came into the kitchen from behind me. "Hey, Juvie."

"Go away, Tin Man," I promptly replied, leaning back in my chair.

"Tony," Pepper said in a warning tone as the man came around the table and sat next to her, across from me. 

"Yeah, Stark," I said with a smirk.

"You too, Gale," Pepper sighed. "You know, when I became CEO of this company I didn't think that also meant babysitting a bunch of children."

"I'm a joy to be around!" I protested.

"I'm your boyfriend!" Tony cried.

"And both of you are behaving like toddlers," Pepper told us. "So if you wanted to be treated like adults, then act like adults."

I turned to face Stark, sticking my nose in the air. "Thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more wit than I have in mine elbows."

"Hey!"

"I'll beat thee, but I would infect my own hands," I continued, speaking in a stuffy British accent.

"Not fair, Juvie, not fair."

"I beg to differ," I went back to my normal voice. "Shakespeare is completely adult. I mean, once you actually understand what they're talking about when the male characters compare their wits- man, it really is _adult_ -"

"Okay," Pepper interrupted me. "Let's just have a nice, normal breakfast."

"Speak for yourself," I said through a mouthful of bagel, swirling the last bit of my coffee around in my mug. "Nothing's normal when you've got me involved."

"Did you _ever_ have a normal life?" Stark asked bluntly. "Besides your year in Dumpsteropolis."

"Tony." Pepper said in a no-nonsense tone, glaring at the man. "Don't be so rude."

"It's fine, Pepper," I told her. Then I looked down, taking a breath. "Actually... I did."

"You what?" Stark frowned.

"I did have a normal life," I repeated, staring at the table. "Well, as normal a life as someone like me can have. I had a house in the countryside, I had a garden, I had two dogs. It was nice."

"And... your parents?" Pepper hesitantly asked.

I looked Stark straight in the eye. "Dead. That should've been obvious by now."

I saw, just for a moment, _pity_ in Stark's eyes. Then it was swallowed up by his usual confidence. But I knew what I saw. Stark actually felt sorry for me, for some God forsaken reason.

"No wonder I don't play well with others," I remarked dryly, and set my coffee mug down on the table. "Now, I'd like to go up to the roof now, so... any of you guys seen Barton?"

"I think he's at the firing range," Stark thought for a second. "He's usually there in the mornings. And afternoons. And evenings. Actually, just always assume he's at the firing range."

"Will do," I rolled my eyes. "See ya later, Pepper. Stark, please stay out of my way. I'm trying to work my powers back up to full strength and an overabundance of sudden negative emotions won't help."

I swept out of the kitchen, leaving Stark spluttering indignantly.

Walking into the main party room, I looked around at all of the hallways and doors, and realized that I had no fudgin' clue where I was going. "JARVIS?" I called out. "Little help here?"

"The firing range is located through the hallway on your right, on the second left door."

"Thanks, buddy." I walked off in that direction, and when I came to the mentioned door, I began to hear a pattern of noises coming from inside.

_Whiz... thunk._

_Whiz... thunk._

Opening the door, I walked into the firing range.

It was small, compared to the gym. The walls, ceiling, and floor were a darkish shade of grey, with fluorescent lights overhead. Around the edges of the room, targets were illuminated from above, and they were in all sorts of shapes- normal circles with rings, ones that looked like bodies, even one that looked like a small car.

Barton was standing ahead and a bit to my right, his back facing me. A half-empty quiver was slung over his back, and he was firing at a series of tiny circles set into the wall. Arrows pierced the center of every one of them.

"Seeing as none of these targets have my name on them, I'd say I'm lucky," I commented, stepping further into the room.

"Keep talking and that might change," Barton muttered, drawing another arrow, aiming for a moment, and then firing. _Thunk_ , went the arrow in the bullseye.

"Aw, just when we were doing so well," I said in a mocking tone.

"What do you want, pipsqueak?" Barton sighed, not once stopping to face me.

"I want to go up to the roof," I rolled my eye. "And guess what? You're my designated stalker- sorry, _observation detail_."

"Hm, let me think about it," Barton finally turned around, tapping the tip of an arrow against his chin. "Eh, nope."

"Nope?" I repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"If it's exercise you're looking for, just start running and I promise I won't hit any major organs or arteries," Barton wiggled the arrow between his fingers and held up his bow.

"Really?" I whined. "Come on. I haven't even gotten revenge on you for the Hello Kitty stuff in my room and that jail cell poster on my door."

Barton sighed, and set his bow and quiver down on a nearby metal table. "Fine, featherweight. Lead the way."

"Yay!" I clapped my hands together and raced out of the room, and towards the elevator. Barton followed me, slowly, much to my chagrin.

When we finally came out onto the roof, I immediately walked all the way forward to the edge, my bare toes curling up on the hot metal rim. There was a good amount of wind- just enough to whip your hair about, but not so strong as to sway the trees.

"Whoa," Barton said from behind me. "Don't get too confident in your malfunctioning powers. Fury'll make me scrape you off the pavement if you fall."

"Shut up," I called, closing my eyes and holding my arms out.

For a moment, the noise of the city filled my ears- honks, engines, shouts, everything. I focused on everything around me: the sounds, the sun beating down overhead, the hiss of wind running over my skin, the smell of smoke and salt and rubber and metal.

"The wind chose me," I murmured to myself. "As long as I am living, the wind will be by my side."

"If you start singing, I'm gonna throw up," Barton announced from behind me.

I dropped my arms and opened my eyes, shooting a glare his way. "Don't mock what you don't understand," I warned him. "Idiocy breeds much darker things than what you presume to know."

"Eloquent," Barton commented, sitting down on the gravel, several feet away. "Who said that?"

"Me," I replied shortly, and took in a deep breath.

"So why are we out here, anyway?" Barton squinted around. "The view?"

"Please refrain yourself from unbridling your tongue for the next period of time, lest I purposefully injure you," I said clearly, focusing on the horizon.

"What?"

"Shut up or I'll punch you."

"Got it."

I unfastened the bandages on my left arm, and began to unwind them. The cool breeze struck my newly uncovered skin, sending chills running to my shoulder and back. I did the same to my other arm, and before long, two long strips of white cloth were resting on the ground at my feet.

"Jesus," I heard Barton mutter. "Those get infected or something?"

For the cuts on my forearms hadn't healed at all. The bleeding had stopped, but the edges of the wound had pulled back slightly, revealing a raw and glistening mass underneath the skin. The insides were a dark red, like blood that had been spilled in the night.

"Or something," I answered dryly. 

Ignoring the bolts of pain that emanated from the cuts, I raised my arms in front of me and let my surroundings fade away, focusing solely on my heartbeat and breathing.

Reaching out with my mind, I found the main current that was sweeping through New York. Finally, a stroke of luck: it was a north wind, my personal favorite and the most natural for me to work with.

Then I gently wiggled my fingers, feeling the air move under and over my skin. Slowly, I wrapped my mind around the breeze, and with a tiny nudge, I pushed it into visibility.

I let my eyes focus on the world around me now, watching silver tendrils flow seemingly out of thin air around me, and circle my body.

"Holy..." Barton trailed off behind me. "That's cool."

"Typical," I muttered, carefully entwining my fingers in wind threads level with my chest. "I tell you to be quiet, and you still talk. Lucky for you, the hard part's over, so the urge to intentionally and irreversibly maim you is somewhat lessened."

"How are you doing that?" I heard Barton stand back up and take a step towards me.

"Careful," I warned him, not turning around. "Mending has never been my strong suite. I have to make sure I get it perfect."

"Mending?"

"Healing, you could call it. It took a while for me to learn it- my legacy is more... offensive." I twisted my wrists, sending the trickles of wind down my arms.

Where the visible trails of wind touched the cuts, a soft pale light was sparked. The redness of the wounds began to pale, and the scarlet-tinted wind around them spun upward into the air, before vanishing.

Then the ebb and flow of the silver wind threads gradually slowed and dimmed, and quicker than you'd think they faded into the air all together, leaving behind no trace.

"But you control the wind," Barton spoke up. "How can you heal with it?"

Sighing in exasperation, I finally turned around to face him. "Look." I held out my arms, displaying the cuts- or rather, where they had been a minute before. Now the skin was closed, and raised pink lines were the only indication that I had been wounded.

"Why didn't you do that earlier?" Barton asked, tilting his head slightly.

"One question at a time, Birdbrain," I grumbled, sitting down. Barton followed suit, crossing his legs like a little boy.

I let out a tiny hiss as I felt my joints locking in place, a dull ache seeping through my bones.

"Something wrong?" Barton instantly noticed it.

I waved a hand. "Nothing. It happens from time to time. Like I said, mending's not my forte. It takes a lot out of me to do even the tiniest bit of healing." I traced my half-way healed cuts with my fingertips. "See, I don't just control the wind. That'd be too easy, too neat. Control goes both ways."

"So," Barton frowned. "You're saying that the wind controls you."

"Why are you so stupid?" I groaned, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. "Okay, try to think of it like this: imagine you're born in the middle of the ocean. You can't drown, you always float- long story short, water won't kill you. But the ocean itself is whipping up a storm. You get bounced from wave to wave. You don't die, but you can get beaten, knocked unconscious, and taken to brink of death."

There was a slight pause. "Well, that's cheerful," Barton remarked.

"What I'm saying is that I'm so far into the storm, the line between human and force of nature gets a little blurred," I rolled my eyes. "Injuries made when my legacy's distressed- like during a nightmare- well, they can heal themselves, but they need a push with what power I've got. So there's the answer to your second question- I didn't have enough energy or control to mend those cuts beforehand."

Barton leaned back in his seat, staring at me. "So there's a whole bunch of things you can do besides blow a piece of paper around?"

I hesitated for a moment. Then I realized exactly what he was asking, and the momentary reprieve I had when explaining my legacy was gone. Instantly, I put up my guarded expression. "Clever, Barton. Real clever."

"What?" He asked, bewildered. "I'm curious."

"And reporting directly to the head of SHIELD, the organization that put me in this mess to begin with." I quickly rose to my feet, joints creaking. Walking towards the elevator, I heard Barton sigh and then follow me.

As we stood in the elevator, steadily descending, I didn't say a word.

"You know," Barton started, right as the doors open. "Not everything we do is an interrogation."

"For me it is." I replied coldly, and briskly walked out into the hallway. Barton sighed again, and then he did something really stupid: he reached towards me and grabbed my shoulder.

Immediately, I whirled around, my other hand raised in defense. Barton leaned backwards slightly, but kept his hand on my shoulder.

"I highly suggest you remove yourself from my vicinity," I growled at him in a low tone. "You don't want to see me angry."

"Is that why you talk more to Bruce?" Barton asked. "Because you both don't want to lose control? 'Cause you both have a destructive nature when push comes to shove?"

"My business," I yanked my shoulder back, making Barton's hand fall to his side. "Is exactly that. It's none of your concern who I talk to and who I don't."

"God, you're just so frustrating!" Barton glared at me, crossing his arms. "One minute you're cracking jokes and smiling, and the next you're about as open as a brick wall."

"Tread carefully, Barton," I warned him, my eyes flashing molten silver. "You won't like what you wander into."

"No, I think you're just scared," Barton replied, staring down at me.

"Excuse me-"

"You heard me. You're just scared of letting people get to know you. You don't want to admit that flying solo isn't as glamorous as it seems. But you'd rather go it alone than rely on someone else, because you're under the impression that that's a weakness."

I stared at the man. "You don't even know me," I said, my voice wavering just a bit. "How can you-"

"Because I _was_ you!" Barton raised his voice. "Jesus, kid, when I was your age that's _exactly_ what I was! I didn't trust anybody, I was a one-person team, and I didn't let anyone even _try_ to help me. Look, I get it. You can take care of yourself. But that doesn't change anything- you're a kid. And like or not, I _know_ that! I know you're just a pipsqueak, okay?"

My face was pale by the time Barton finished speaking. He just looked at me.

"I-" I broke off. "Why would you even say that?"

"Because _some_ body's got to," Barton rolled his eyes. "And by the way, if you're scared of actually hurting someone, you're not. Think about who lives here. You don't stand a chance against all of us."

"Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"We're the _Avengers_ ," Barton said, like it was obvious. "We saved the world a month ago. Remember that?"

"Ah," I nodded, the color coming back to my face now. "I _do_ remember the squad of Chitauri that slipped out of your grasp."

"That was Stark," Barton grumbled. "Not my fault."

"Oh, honey," I said sympathetically. "Did you take out an entire squad of aliens by yourself? Without any help whatsoever?"

"Yes!" Barton protested. "I'm the best marksman in basically the whole world."

"Whatever floats your boat," I chuckled.

"Shut up."

"Why?"

"Because you're being annoying."

"Then by default you should be silent."

Barton glared at me, something I was very used to by now.

"See ya later, Penguinfart," I started walking back down the hallway.

"Oh, by the way, the guitars came," Barton called after me.

I halted mid-step and looked back at him, confused. "What?"

"Your 'terms and conditions'," Barton rolled his eyes. "You wanted a guitar, and then Fury said we'd just grab a bunch and let you pick out one and then return the rest-"

"Yes!" I clapped my hands together and jumped up and down. "Where are they? Please tell me they're good guitars. What colors are they? Did you get acoustic, electric, or-"

"Jesus, calm down, featherweight!" Barton held up his hands. "They're in the common room."

Before he could even finish his sentence, I sprinted off down the hall, towards the common room. Bursting into the huge space, I skidded to a stop once I saw what was in there.

At least thirty guitars were resting on simple black stands, littering the floor. Pepper was standing in the middle, holding a tablet and marking something off on it.

"Oh, Gale!" Pepper looked up at me and smiled.

"Holy sweet mother of sugar cookies..." I stared at all of the guitars, wide-eyed.

Pepper laughed. "I suppose you'll have to choose one of them now."

"How?" I shook my head. "How can I possibly choose?"

"I know," Pepper nodded sympathetically. "I think Fury got the expensive brands."

"This is a Gibson," I said in awe, running my hands over a dark-stained guitar nearby. "I've never even _touched_ a Gibson before."

"Well, have at it," Pepper gestured to the guitars as she sat down on a nearby couch, focusing back on her tablet.

Immediately, I picked up the Gibson and plucked at the strings. It was perfectly tuned, which was a surprise. But when I played a simple C chord, it sounded way too artificial for my taste. Wrinkling my nose, I set it down.

I skipped over the next guitar just because it was an obnoxious shade of purple. No thank you.

I don't know how long I spent there, picking up each guitar, picking each string and trying out chords, then deciding that that specific instrument wasn't for me. And boy, were there a lot of guitars to go through. All different colors, all different sizes and shapes- it was like Fury had cleaned out an entire music store.

Finally, I set down the last guitar, a light blue one that simply wouldn't stay in tune. Straightening my back, I let out a tiny groan as my bones ached in protest.

"Ugh," I said as I rolled my neck around, trying to loosen my stiff muscles. "That was a complete bust."

"What, the guitars?" Barton's voice came from behind me. I turned around and saw the man sitting on a couch, holding a soda can.

"How long have you been there?" I asked, frowning.

"A while," Barton admitted. "So none of those guitars were good enough for you?"

I sighed. "No, some of them were plenty good. It's just that they didn't fit me."

"Of course," Barton grumbled. "Picky."

" _Unique_ ," I corrected him.

" _Weird_ ," Barton challenged me.

"Okay," Pepper spoke up from her seat. "Let's not get too hostile over here. In fact... it's noon. Lunch, anyone? I can order a pizza right now if you guys are hungry," she changed the topic.

"You know I'm always good for pizza," Barton stood up.

"Fine," I rolled my eyes. "Only because I didn't have a proper breakfast and now I'm starving."

"Excellent," Pepper beamed and walked towards the kitchen.

Barton and I began to follow her, and within a moment or two, we fell in step with each other.

"You know, just because you gave that pretty little speech doesn't mean that it'll change anything," I told him offhandedly.

"Eh, well, you were starting to really get on my nerves," Barton shrugged. "Besides, I wasn't the only one thinking it. Tony might treat you like a convict, but Bruce and Pepper seem to have some sort of faith in your ability to be normal."

"What about you?"

Barton seemed to think about that for a moment. "I find you incredibly annoying and want nothing more than to see you vanish from my sight."

"Thanks, Penguinfart."

"Snot-nosed brat."

"Stuck-up idiot."

"Imp."

"Moron."

"Devil."

"Antichrist."

"I hate you, pipsqueak."

"Hate you back, Birdbrain."


	18. You’re dead too

Author's Note: So I'm currently taking ideas and suggestions for Gale's story, like little scenes you guys want and character interactions, stuff like that. The story's beginning to pick up speed, though, so buckle up and enjoy this new chapter!

"Miss Potts wishes to inform you that dinner is ready."

"Mm-hm."

"She would like you to join herself and the others for dinner in the common room."

"Eh... no thanks."

"She was quite insistent."

"Good for her."

"What shall I tell Miss Potts, then?"

"I'm just gonna stay here for a bit."

"Very well, Gale."

I sighed in relief as JARVIS's voice grew silent. Honestly, I didn't mind talking to him, but when I was suspending several objects in the air at varying heights, I needed all the concentration I could get.

Frowning, I carefully reached out with another wind, and one of the pillows on the bed began to rise into the air. I could feel my muscles beginning to seize up- doing this much 'multitasking' wasn't exactly easy right now.

Currently, I was sitting on the floor on the middle of my room, hands lifted upwards. Several tendrils of visible wind stretched out from my body to random levitating objects. So far, there were three pencils, a notebook, a hairbrush, the lamp with the cracked light bulb, one of my sneakers, and the pillow. Everything was working fine, although some of the objects were shaking as my focus was split into every direction.

Then the door slammed open.

My concentration instantly vanished, and everything I had been holding in the air plummeted to the floor.

"Jesus, could you be any more annoying?" I glared at the figure of Barton, who stood in the doorway. 

"JARVIS said you didn't want to come down for dinner," Barton said, like that explained everything.

"And?"

"I'm making sure you change your mind."

"No." I replied flatly, standing up. I began to pick up the pencils and other things that littered the floor.

"Really?" Barton raised an eyebrow.

"Really."

"Tough luck, kiddo. We're having a big dinner and everybody's invited."

"I pass on your invitation and decide to spend the evening in my room, _alone_."

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

"Why not?" I frowned, placing the discarded pillow back on the bed.

"Because Pepper won't be happy," Barton admitted. "And then nobody's happy."

I scoffed. "So what can you possibly do to make me have dinner with you lot?"

"I'm thinking about a repeat on one of my old favorites," Barton suddenly grinned. He walked up next to me, and before I could run away, put his arms around my waist and hoisted me over his shoulder.

"I HATE YOU!" I bellowed, kicking my legs in an attempt to break free.

"I know, kiddo," Barton chuckled, walking back out of my room and down the hallway. "Doesn't change a thing. You're still coming to dinner, where we'll socialize like normal people."

"HOW ARE YOU NOT FAZED BY ANY OF THIS?!" I hollered as I jabbed my elbows into his back repeatedly.

"Eh, I've gone on a few protection assignments where the person didn't exactly want to be protected. I had to learn how to carry numerous pounds of belligerence while maintaining a constant speed," Barton shrugged, making me jolt up and down.

"You could at least be careful," I grumbled, giving up on my attack and slouching.

"You could at least be cooperative," Barton replied. "But you're not. So here we are."

He got to the elevator and climbed in, my legs banging against the doors. Huffing angrily in response, I propped on elbow up on Barton's back and rested my head on my fist. Muted rock music began playing overhead as the elevator descended.

"Okay, I have to ask," Barton started.

"Oh great, here it goes again," I rolled my eyes.

"Why do you just stay in your room most of the time? I mean, I know for a fact that the movie theater has actual buttered popcorn, and the pool is huge and usually heated."

"Because then I don't have to talk to any of you," I said bluntly. "I don't know if you've noticed but my plan has been foiled."

Barton laughed. "Hey, if this is the only way to get you out of your room, I'm fine with it. Honestly, it's like my weekly workout. After a couple laps and some lunges, I get to carry a hundred pounds of sarcasm and teenage angst around the tower."

"Just die already," I grumbled miserably.

"Well, a lot of people have tried to get me there already, all to varying degrees of failure."

"Can I send them a thank-you card?"

"Most of them are dead."

"Most?"

"There's Nat."

"She tried to kill you? Scratch the card, I'm sending her a gift basket."

The elevator doors dinged open cheerfully, and the sounds of conversation and the chime of silverware on plates filled the air. Barton walked forward, one arm still holding the backs of my legs steady. "Hey, guys!" He called out to some unknown group of people.

"Hi, Clint," I heard Pepper say. "Um, why is Gale-"

"Because I wanted to be alone," I said loud and clear. "And this idiot decided that I didn't want that anymore."

I heard Stark's annoying laugh. "Nice work, Barton. A jailbreak for the Juvie."

"I will- oof!" I grunted as Barton began climbing steps or something, sending his shoulder into my gut.

"Clint, I'm pretty sure that files under child abuse," Romanoff's voice was sly and full of mirth.

"Does she count as a child?" Barton asked, finally reaching the end of the steps and stopping. "I mean, she's technically a teenager. And she hates being called 'kid'. Don't you, kid?"

"I'm going to tear off your eyebrows and feed them to the pigeons," I glared at the floor, the only thing I could really see.

"Oh, Banner, that's your call. Anger management," Stark piped up.

"Could you just put me down already?!" I snapped, fed up with the conversation.

Barton paused. "Okay!" He said cheerfully, and dropped me.

I was able to twist somewhat so I landed on my back, not my face. Grunting as my breath got knocked out of my lungs, I lay on the floor for a second, trying to catch my body up to speed.

"Clint!" Pepper yelped.

"She asked for it. Literally." I saw Barton walk off towards a low table.

"Oh, that's gonna leave a mark," I screwed my eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath.

"Are you alright?" A new voice said, sounding concerned. Opening my eyes, I saw none other than Captain Freakin' Rogers standing over me, offering a hand.

"I will be, but I can't say anything for Barton," I huffed, and reached forward. Grasping Rogers' hand, I pulled myself to my feet.

"Ooh, head rush," I winced, stumbling in place a bit.

"Really?" Clint whined. "Spangles, she was fine."

"She's a kid," Rogers replied, looking back to the archer. Without skipping a beat, I hopped up on my tiptoes and smacked him upside the head.

"Told ya she doesn't like being called kid," Barton sniggered.

Blinking, I realized that I was at the same place as my first dinner in the Tower, months ago. Barton, Stark, Pepper, Dr. Banner, and Romanoff were all sitting on couches around the low table. Rogers was standing by me, obviously, and looked very confused and hurt.

"Sorry, Gale," Rogers apologized. "I didn't realize-"

"Save it." I held up a hand. "Any chance you've got your shield with you?"

Rogers shook his head. "No, why?"

"I really want to throw something at Barton," I answered dryly. "And I want it to hurt." Stark failed at stifling his laugh, and I even saw Romanoff crack a grin.

"Juvie, sit down, stay a while," Stark gestured to the table. "We got Chinese takeout."

I wrinkled my nose at the numerous white boxes around the table. "Seriously? You guys like that stuff?"

"Of course! But oh man, if Thor was here..." Barton trailed off, shaking his head.

Immediately, he and Stark cried "ANOTHER!" Pepper winced, obviously recalling some previous incident.

"So," I started, finding a seat on the couch with Pepper and Stark, but sliding away from both of them. "Why's the golden retriever of freedom here?"

Dr. Banner unfortunately had taken a sip of water at that moment, and promptly choked on it. "Wait- what-"

"This is why I keep you around," Stark said, raising a glass of scotch in my direction. "That's your new contact name, Spangles."

Rogers sat down next to Romanoff, who was next to Barton. "My name isn't that hard to remember, Tony."

"Right, right. You're completely right, Gerald," Stark nodded.

"And you're calling me 'child'," I muttered under my breath.

"Okay, so, like I was saying," Stark continued as he scooped a heap of chow mein onto his plate. "We should totally petition Fury to send us on a mission in the Bahamas."

"Do you honestly think Fury's gonna fall for that?" Romanoff raised an eyebrow.

"Then we'll use up vacation days," Stark suggested. "You assassins probably have years saved up by now. In fact, have either of you even taken a sick day?"

"I don't get sick," Romanoff replied. "I conquer the virus."

"Naturally," I rolled my eyes.

"You got something to say, pipsqueak?" Barton asked me.

"Actually," I started, leaning forward. "I do. First of all, nobody told me why the Captain is here. Second of all, why am I here- and third of all, when can I leave?"

"Well, you're not leaving until dinner's finished, obviously," Stark snorted. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"I'm just swinging by," Rogers said. "Natasha, Clint, and I all have a break in our missions, so we usually just come back here when that happens."

"And I thought it would be nice for you to meet him," Pepper added.

"I already met him," I rolled my eyes. "In fact, he knocked me out, then I yelled at him, then he had me read parts of a dictionary, and then I gave him the silent treatment."

"In all fairness, you had every right to be angry with me," Rogers told me. "I kind of hit you over the hard rather hard."

"Ah, it's not that," I dismissed his words. "I've taken worse."

"Worse?" Pepper frowned, looking concerned.

"Oh yeah, sure," I nodded, leaning back into the soft couch. "You think that's the first time I've been knocked out?"

"No offense," Romanoff started, looking at me. "But you don't exactly look like a fighter."

"Which is why I win," I replied. "That and the fact that I've got wicked powers that can throw a man through a reinforced steel door like it's cardboard."

Both assassins winced at that. "Doesn't sound too fun," Barton shrugged. "But didn't you say you took a crowbar to the back?"

"Gale!" Pepper gasped, and I could see the patented 'concerned mother' look on her face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Besides, if you think _that's_ bad, there was this time in Siberia with a human trafficker..." I trailed off, realizing that every adult was staring at me with varying degrees of worry, confusion, and slight shock.

"Human- human trafficking?" Dr. Banner managed to ask. "You-"

"Long story short, I'm sorta one of a kind," I shrugged. "A collector's item, if you will. But the only reason why I got involved was because he had a person that was... like me. I staked out the place for a while on a freezing rooftop, then broke my person out. Got a bit banged up on the way, but everybody lived."

"Just how dangerous is your life?" Stark shook his head.

"You tell me," I shot back. "But however dangerous it was before, it's tripled now."

"Why?" Barton asked.

"Because of you," I scowled at him. "Now that I'm on SHIELD's radar, I can't go anywhere without you following me. And that's only if I qualify as a small enough threat so you don't, I don't know, lock me up in some God forsaken cage!"

There was an awkward pause as everybody tried to look anywhere but me. I shook my head, letting out a tiny scoff. Just typical. Adults always wanna tell people how to clean up their messes, but won't even admit that they're the ones that screwed everything up in the first place.

"Gale," Dr. Banner started hesitantly. "You're strange."

"Thanks," I let out a humorless laugh. "I didn't know that."

"No, I mean- not because of your powers," the doctor said. "Just- just _you_."

"How so?" I frowned.

"You're really annoying, for starters," Barton muttered. I threw a fortune cookie at him. He caught it easily, grinned in my direction, and began eating it.

"Every time you start to share something, you second guess it," Romanoff added. "It's an old habit that I've got- I analyze people," she shrugged. "But each time you open your mouth to say something serious, you hesitate."

"Right," I nodded. "Well, I've always chosen my words carefully. Also, I really don't like it when secret government assassins are memorizing what I say so they can build a profile on me."

"You're paranoid," Barton rolled his eyes.

"I'm alive," I corrected him. "If I didn't check my steps each time I went somewhere, I'd be dead."

"Okay!" Pepper clapped her hands together, drawing our attention to her. "Let's get off the subject of death and pain and getting beaten up by criminals."

"Fine." Barton, Romanoff, and I all muttered at the same time.

"Gale," Pepper turned to me.

"Yes, my favorite person at this table?" I smiled at her. Stark choked on his Scotch. "Oh, sorry," I apologized. "Dr. Banner's pretty cool too. Guess what? He didn't shoot me. That's a hint for all you people."

"I just wanted you to get to talk with the team," Pepper continued, gesturing to everybody. "I mean, you spend so much time in your room, and I'm pretty sure you've skipped breakfast and lunch most days. In fact, we're going to watch a movie tonight, all together."

"We are?" Stark frowned. Pepper silenced him with a glare.

"And I thought we would let Steve decide which movie it is," she finished.

"Me?" Rogers asked, looking confused. "I don't really know a lot of good movies."

"You've got that list of ones you want to watch," Pepper reminded him. "Just pick one of those."

"Well..." Rogers trailed off. "I haven't seen Star Wars yet."

"Hm," I nodded, staring off at the ground. "Yeah, I meant to get around to that one too. Never happened."

There was a loud clink as Stark set his glass down on the table. "You're kidding me, right?" He asked me.

"I don't follow," I said.

"You haven't seen _Star Wars_?" Barton repeated, looking at me like I was an alien. "Steve I can understand, but you?"

"Didn't have the time," I defended myself. "I was kinda busy making sure I didn't get captured by any secret organizations intent on imprisoning me."

"That's it," Stark announced, standing up. "We're fixing this. Right now, this instant."

"Great!" Barton said cheerfully. The others got to their feet, and began to move towards the hallway that led to the movie theater. "Wait a sec- what are you doing, featherweight?" Barton frowned at me.

"Go on," I waved a hand at them, still sitting. "You dragged me out for dinner. Which by the way, I can't eat Chinese. Gives me indigestion. Also, pretty sure I'm allergic to something in the soy sauce."

"Nope." Barton walked back over to me. "You're coming, you poor Star-Wars-deprived child."

Without even letting me stand up, Barton picked me up and slung me over his right shoulder. "Oh come on!" I shouted, not even bothering to fight. "Is this just gonna be a normal thing?"

Barton laughed, walking past the others, who followed us. "As long as you keep being annoying and stubborn, pipsqueak."

"Rogers!" I cried out. "You're big, muscly and have a moral code. Help me!"

"She's fine, Steve," Barton called out. "Don't even bother."

I glared at the figures of Pepper and Dr. Banner, who looked amused by my struggles. Stark was holding in laughter, and Rogers just shook his head with a smile. "You're all dead to me," I said monotonously.

"Don't be such a Vader," Barton chuckled, his voice rumbling through his chest. 

"Who?" I asked in momentary confusion.

"He's Luke Skywalker's-" Stark started.

"Spoilers!" Romanoff hissed, glaring at the man.

"Okay, so I've located the Spoiler Police," I nodded at Romanoff. "Anything else I should know before I meet my very untimely death?"

"Clint hoards popcorn and blankets," Dr. Banner added with a smile. "He makes nests with them."

"You're just jealous," Barton sniffed. "And you talk during movies."

"I can't help but comment on what I see," Dr. Banner defended. By now, our little party had reached the door to the private theater, and Barton pushed his way inside (banging my legs against the door frame as he did so).

"Alright, let's do this!" Stark ran inside and claimed one of the small couches for himself. Pepper sat down next to him, the two instantly holding each other in that classically sappy way that adults do.

"Can you put me down now? I mean, don't drop me," I hastily rectified my sentence. "But my stomach is getting really sore."

"Poor baby," Barton mocked, but tossed me over his back onto a sofa. 

"Oof!" I grunted as I sank into the cushions.

"Popcorn!" Stark cried as Barton grabbed several boxes of hot popcorn from the back and began distributing them.

"God, I just wanted to be alone," I tiredly rubbed my eyes.

"You look terrible," Barton told me as he walked back over to my couch, holding some popcorn and dragged a bunch of blankets. He quickly piled them up around his seat and sat down in the middle, just like a bird in a nest.

"You look worse," I replied. "Maybe that's just your face, but I can't look at you long enough to know for sure without going blind."

"No, seriously, the bags under your eyes make you look like a raccoon," Barton commented. "Actually, that explains a lot if you've been sleep-deprived this whole time."

"What do you care?" I grumbled, crossing my arms.

"How long has it been since you've slept?" Barton said pointedly. I glared at the man, who didn't falter. I was searching for something to say- a lie, actually, because honestly? It had been two days since I had willingly shut my eyes for longer than a minute.

Barton's forehead creased as I stayed silent, and he opened his mouth to continue speaking when-

"Quiet, guys!" Stark called out. "Movie's starting!"

I shifted into my corner of the couch, glad that Stark had some use afterall- getting me out of social interaction. The screen in front of us came to life, and grand opening theme music began playing out of speakers all around us.

"Watch and learn," Stark whispered as the blue words 'A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...' appeared on screen.

_STAR WARS_

_It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire._

_During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the DEATH STAR, an armored space station with enough power to destroy an entire planet._

_Pursued by the Empire's sinister agents, Princess Leia races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy...."_

As the film went on, I found myself actually enjoying it. The droids, the aliens, the planets- for a movie made in the seventies, it was pretty good. But they could've made the Millennium Falcon look less like a butt.

But by the time that the Death Star had demonstrated its 'full capabilities', I was getting tired. When Yavin 4 appeared, my eyes were slipping shut.

I know, I didn't want to fall asleep. The dream I had the last time I did was still lurking in my mind. But my ears just sorta tuned out the sounds of explosions. Besides, the room was just cool enough to be comfortable but not require a blanket. And the couch was soft, and squishy, and jeez I was tired, and besides I could just close my eyes for a sec and then I wake myself up... I'll just close my eyes for a moment...

_"Mama! Mama!" I cried, running through the house. Making a quick right, I crashed into the wall before regaining my balance and speeding off again._

_"Gale! What have I told you about running indoors?" Mama's voice came out from an open door up ahead._

_"Who says I'm running? Mama!" I laughed, dashing into the room where she was._

_Mama was sitting in the music room with Papa, who was standing near one of the big windows. A big black piano was in the center, the keys white and shining brightly._

_"My little Kozel, Mama doesn't want you to scuff up the floor," Papa chuckled at me. He was wearing a bright red sweater- the most colorful thing he had in his closet. Mama had made it for him, and even though one sleeve was bit longer than the other, and the fancy patterns on the hems were kinda squished in some place, Papa always wore it in the winter._

_"But I was in a hurry!" I defended myself._

_"Gale," Mama scolded me. "If you're in a hurry, then walk fast."_

_"But- but-"_

_"Oh, come now," Papa walked over to me, holding his arms out. I jumped up and he caught me, and placed me on top of his shoulders. "We all know who she's going to listen to, Katerina."_

_"Ruslan!" Mama gasped in fake offence. "I'll have you know that I'm Gale's favorite."_

_"Gale?" Papa asked, twisting his head to the side so he could see me. "Your call."_

_"Uh... um..." I looked between my parents, my young mind not willing to make a decision. "If Mama lets me run in the house then I like her more, but Papa can do cool tricks that Mama can't."_

_"Ha!" Papa laughed, jogging lightly to Mama. I bounced up and down, giggling with joy._

_"But can Papa do this?" Mama asked with a grin. She held out a hand, and all of a sudden, fire sprung to life in her palm._

_I leaned forward, staring at the flame with awe. Papa noticed this and quickly set me down on the ground. "But," he told me. "Can Mama do this?"_

_Papa grabbed Mama's mug of coffee that she was resting on her arm chair, and set it down on the ground in front of me. Smiling at me, he then reached out one finger and touched the ceramic surface._

_A whiteness began to spread from his finger, growing quickly over the brown mug. Grey cracks appeared, seemingly random in design, and before long, the entire mug was turned to perfect marble. Even the liquid inside was frozen into stone._

_"Papa wins!" I clapped my hands together._

_"Oh, no," Mama groaned. "That was my favorite coffee blend."_

_"I'll make you another right this instant," Papa bent down to Mama's height and kissed her cheek._

_"I love you, Ruslan," Mama smiled at Papa._

_"I love you too, Katerina," Papa smiled back. "Now, let's go and-"_

_Fire suddenly appeared in Mama's hand again, this time larger and brighter. "Katerina, I already won over our daughter," Papa shook his head lightheartedly at her. "You don't need to get jealous."_

_"No, I wasn't trying to do that," Mama frowned. She shook her hand a couple times, but the fire wouldn't disappear._

_By my feet, the now-changed mug was shuddering. The stone began to spread from under it, turning the tiled floor to white marble._

_"Ruslan!" Mama cried, leaping to her feet._

_"It's not me!" Papa took a step back from the mug. "You know I have to touch things to make them change!"_

_As the marble spread towards me, I quickly hopped over the expanding stone to the already transformed floor- that part couldn't get me now._

_"Gale, get out of here!" Mama told me urgently as she desperately tried to fan out the flame in her palm._

_I ran to the door, but right as I reached the threshold, it slammed shut. Panicking, I raced over to windows, making sure that the wave of marble never reached my feet. But the windows wouldn't open, and I watched in horror as the bright winter daylight suddenly crashed to pitch black. The only light now came from the lamps scattered around the room._

_Then the beautiful grand piano caught fire with a huge whoosh. I flinched backwards, moving back up against a wall._

_"Mama!" I shouted._

_But instead of responding, Mama let out a piercing scream of pain. The skin underneath the fire in her hand was turning red and blistering, the flesh being eaten away by the flame._

_"Katerina!" Papa yelled, and reached out for Mama._

_And then the floor shook as if heaven, hell, and earth were colliding. Papa fell down, away from Mama. I tumbled towards the burning piano, the fire heating my skin uncomfortably._

_The entire floor was marble now, and the white began to spread up the walls, the grey cracks shaking. Fine grains of sand started to spill from those cracks, and as they hit the floor, they rolled towards Papa._

_"Ruslan!" Mama wailed, the fire now expanding up her arm. A thick smell filled the air as Mama's skin burned and burned and burned. She tried to beat the flame out with her other hand, but it caught, and then fire was surrounding both of her arms._

_"Wait- no-" Papa said in confusion as the sand spilling from the marble cracks rolled onto his legs. Defying gravity, they moved up past his knees and towards his chest, covering everything they touched._

_"Mama! Papa!" I sobbed, the ground still shaking and throwing me off my feet each time I tried to stand. "What's happening?"_

_Mama screamed again, but this time... it was like someone was splitting her soul in two. Her entire body was aflame, and her clothes and hair and skin were burning and shriveling. The remnants of her flesh were turning black, and as Mama cried out, I could see her eyes rolling back, showing only the whites._

_Papa made a choking sound, and when I looked over to him, I saw that the sand had wrapped itself around his throat, tightening its grasp. The marble floor beneath him slowly rose up, and when it touched his skin, it seemed to vanish under his flesh. But I could see the paleness spread through his veins, circulating through his body._

_I tried to stand once more, and this time I kept my balance. But each time I took a step towards my parents, something invisible forced me back- a formless tempest that kept me where I was. Even though the room was sealed and now completely marble, there somehow was wind in here, making me watch my parents be killed by the things that gave them life._

_Mama gave one last shriek, and fell to the floor. Her skin was burned black and seared red all over- as black as the night outside, and as red as the sweater she made for Papa._

_And Papa, oh, he cried out in sheer agony as a sickening crunch was heard from his body. Ropes of sand held him down as he flailed his limbs, and I could see the marble inside of him writhe like a nest of serpents. Papa... Papa was being crushed to death from the inside._

_I heard each one of his bones break, each one making me burst out into a new fit of tears, but the wind stopped me from reaching him._

_"No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, but with a heave of Papa's body and a bile-rising snap, he went limp and still._

_Everything in the room was in chaos. Flame, marble, and wind all churned together in an indescribable work of horror. My mother lay motionless, her body burned beyond recognition. My father's limbs were broken at crooked angles, blood spilling out the corner of his mouth._

_And I watched them die._

_Sobbing, I sank to my knees. The wind still buffeted me, keeping me in my place._

_The night began to leak through the windows. The shadows grew longer, and before I could blink, I was encased in pure darkness._

_"No, no, no," my lungs heaved for air through my sobs. All of a sudden, my voice sounded older. I was- I was me again, no longer a child. "This- this isn't what happened. Mama and Papa- they didn't-"_

_Then their bodies appeared, floating ahead of me like gruesome puppets. Spinning around slowly, they hovered in the darkness, somehow being lit enough for me to see them._

_"Please," I cried, still on my knees. "Please- just-"_

_Beneath Mama, a huge rendering of the Dagaz- her rune- sprung to life, depicted in pure flame. Under Papa, marble grew and formed the Mannaz for him._

_And in front of me, silver wind-threads appeared. They spun themselves into the Hagalaz- something that seemed so special before but now was a death sentence._

_I screwed my eyes shut, refusing to look at it. "No, this isn't happening. I'm still back in the music room, and Papa's showing me a trick, and then he makes Mama another cup of coffee and we go out and have a snowball fight in the garden. That never happened."_

_"Oh, come now."_

_Opening my eyes, I whirled around at the source of the voice._

_Papa was standing there, his body broken and bloodied. He lurched towards me, pale eyes black and vacant. "Gale, come here."_

_"No," I said shakily, backing away from him._

_"I just want to hold you," Papa said, his lips twisting up into a gruesome smile._

_"You're- you're-"_

_"Dead?" Papa paused. "Yes, I am. But Gale, my little girl, we all are. You know that." He began jerkily walking towards me, one foot crushed at an angle and trailing behind the rest of his leg._

_"Stay back," I held out a shaky hand. "Or I'll-"_

_"Use you legacy," Papa nodded, still coming towards me. "I know. I taught you so much about our people. Our legacies, our home, our souls, our... beginnings. And you know that you're dead too."_

_"What?" I asked, momentarily confused. Then my fingers tickled, and I looked down- and my skin was turning silver at the tips, spreading down to my palms quickly. Pure silver- pure wind- was taking over my body._

_"We're all dead, Gale," Papa chuckled lowly. "And you are too. You'll die soon. Do you honestly think you can control it? My, my. You're dead too."_

_The silver reached my chest, coating my entire body. As it crept up my neck, Papa's face twisted into an ugly snarl._

_"You're dead too," he repeated, sand spilling out of his eyes and hair. "You're dead too. You're dead too! You're dead too!"_

_I couldn't move an inch as the silver wind touched my eyes, tainting everything a pale grey. Papa advanced on me, crumpled hands stretching out as he neared me._

_"You're dead too! You're dead too!" Papa screamed, a second away from reaching me. I could already feel his cold hands tugging at my shirt, ghosting over my arms._

_"YOU'RE DEAD TOO!"_

I screamed, inhumanly loud, and instinct took over my body. Flailing my limbs, I felt them make contact with something moving- something alive.

"Gale!" Someone yelled, a man, but I couldn't recognize the voice. I scrambled backwards on my hands, my eyes not able to comprehend anything.

"What's wrong?"

"Gale, just calm down!"

"Somebody get her!"

"Gale!"

My mind felt like it was going at the speed of light, or it was standing unnervingly still. I couldn't tell. All I knew was that there was people and people meant danger and darkness and please just _leave me alone danger danger I'm dying danger danger danger somebody oh God somebody help me dangerdangerdangerdanger-_

My back ran up against something hard- a wall. Somebody was walking towards me, I could feel the vibrations through the floor, I could hear their booming footsteps. I quickly moved back and away from them, but then I hit another wall- I was trapped in a corner. For a moment, I was still, not knowing what to do next.

"Get her, _get her_!" Somebody cried out.

I instantly went back into panic. I could feel the wind picking up, gathering force- and then someone grabbed my shoulders.

"No!" I cried out, the image of Papa hanging in the shadows bursting into my mind.

"Gale, you need to calm down!" The person told me, hands grasping my arms tightly.

"Leave me alone!" I raised my fists and tried to knock the person away. But they released my shoulders and caught my hands with theirs, and deflected the blows.

"Okay, okay," they said, pulling me towards them. I was struggling, trying to work myself out their grasp, but they were simply too strong. "Just take a deep breath, got it?"

I shouted in protest, but the person held me close. "Take a deep breath, Gale. Come on. You got this. It's just a breath."

My lungs sucked in a gulp of air, not of my own accord. But the person rubbed a hand on my back in encouragement. "That's good. Now just take another breath. One more. Small steps."

Somewhere in my brain, a part of me realized that I was out of control. And losing control was bad. Losing control meant someone got hurt. I didn't want anyone to get hurt.

I took a second breath without realizing it, and the person gently put their other hand on the back of my neck, pulling my head down and resting against their shoulder.

"That's it," they said quietly. "We're just gonna sit here and take a minute to catch our breath, okay?

My lungs shuddered, making my breaths ragged. I couldn't tell the difference between the sweat and the tears that were slipping down my cheeks. My head was reeling, trying to process everything, all at once.

And then the image of fire flashed on the back of my eyelids, and then I saw Mama burning and covered in her fire and the smell was suddenly filling the room-

My body stiffened, muscles coiling as tense as a bow-string. I began to push myself away from whoever was holding me, but they wouldn't let go.

"Alright, Gale, just breathe," they said. "It's okay. You're not dreaming anymore, you're okay, you're safe."

I let out a tiny whimper. I just- I wanted- I didn't know what was happening. I didn't want to think about what I had just dreamed about, but that was all I could think of.

But eventually my lungs stopped heaving. My heartbeat slowed enough for me to sort through the panic. My muscles were still shuddering, though, but it was from the shock and not the actual fear itself.

"Okay, Gale," the person said. "I'm gonna let go now. You good with that?"

I nodded almost imperceptively, and the person carefully leaned back from me. I raised my hands to my face, rubbing my eyes. Slowly, the world around me came into focus.

The movie theater was dark. For a second I thought I was back in the shadows of my dream, but there were people standing around me. Two women, four men.

"I- I-" The words caught in my throat.

"Tony, go get a glass of water. Everyone else, give us a minute," a blond man- Rogers- said. Stark, who I now recognized, left the room with speaking. The remaining three figures exited the room, but I could feel the uncertainty remaining.

"Is... did I..." I rasped, trying to get my voice back.

"You fell asleep," the person in front of me said, still crouched down. "After the movie ended, we weren't gonna bother you, but then you started crying out and struggling. Steve tried to wake you up, but then you lashed out and... yeah."

Then Stark came back into the room holding the glass of water. Rogers took it from the billionaire, and walked over to me. I flinched away when he got close, and he paused for a moment.

"Gale, you just had a pretty bad panic attack," Rogers told me gently, his free hand raised in a peaceful gesture. "Sometimes water helps. Especially since you were yelling. Your throat must feel awful."

I reached out for the glass, taking it in my clumsy fingers. Rogers crouched down next to the person who had gotten me to calm down fairly well. I took a sip of water out of habit, and I could feel the cool liquid run all the way down to my stomach.

"Did I..." I started again, coughing at the end. 

"Take it easy, kid," the person told me.

"Did... I... is anyone... hurt?" I managed to force out. Rogers and the person looked at each other for a second.

"No," Rogers finally answered.

"You hit him in the face when you woke up," the person said.

"But..." I took another gulp of water. "I didn't hurt anyone with my... with the..."

"Nope," the person shook their head.

"Okay, Gale," Rogers began. "You ready to stand up?"

I nodded silently, placing the glass down on the floor. Carefully getting to my feet, I winced as my head started to ache. Rogers came over to me, putting one hand lightly on my shoulder in case I fell.

"How do you know what to do?" The person asked Rogers, sounding curious.

"Back in... my day, soldiers got nightmares after rough missions. I learned how to deal with PTSD," Rogers answered.

"'M fine," I muttered, still dazed.

"Obviously not," the person who calmed me down snorted. "When you said you got nightmares- I thought you meant falling off buildings, clowns, being naked in front of school- that sort of thing. Not..."

"What happened to you?" Rogers thought aloud quietly.

"I was born," I rasped, a bit of clarity coming back to me. "That's all that needed to happen."

Rogers and the person cast each other a glance, and then the Captain shifted his feet. "I'm going to find the others," he told me. "Are you going to be okay?"

I managed to nod briefly. Standing up straighter, I took a deep breath. "I always am."

"Go ahead, Steve. I've got this," the person told the other man. Steve hesitated for a moment, but then quickly exited the room.

"I'm just gonna head back to my room-" I started, trying to take a step towards the door.

"Uh, nope." The person lightly grabbed my shoulder. Reaching backwards with the other hand, they plucked a blanket off of a couch. "The last thing you need right now is alone time. Come on, kiddo."

I was led out to the elevator, the bright lights inside making me wince. The person- the man standing next to me didn't say anything, but I could tell he kept looking over at me.

"Thanks."

My voice rang out in the elevator, almost clear enough to make you believe nothing had happened.

"What?" the man asked, confused.

"For-" I broke off. "For calming me down. If I- if I didn't... I might've hurt someone. So... thanks."

The man chuckled as the elevator doors dinged open.

"You're welcome, pipsqueak."

Barton walked out into the hallway, the spare blanket he had snagged hanging over his shoulder. I followed him, although slower and more hesitant.

"Alright, kid," Barton said as he opened the door at the end. "Try not to fall."

I stepped past him and out onto the rooftop. The city lights shone as brightly as the stars in the night, twinkling in the dark. The moon hung full and dim overhead, casting a faint light over the gravel.

"Why are we here?" I asked Barton, who walked up and stood next to me.

"You said something about- what was it, ley lines? Well, whatever you said, I got the 'helpful' gist from the mystical speech." Barton shrugged. "I figure that after a nightmare like that, you'll want to be somewhere nice."

"That's..." I trailed off, stepping towards the edge, but keeping a safe distance. "That's actually thoughtful. I was under the impression that you didn't care what happened to me."

"You're still a kid," Barton reminded me. He tossed the blanket at me, it hitting my chest before I grabbed it out of reflex. "And it's cold out here. So bundle up before you get sick."

"Fine, mom," I muttered, but wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and sat down on the ground, staring out at the city.

Barton sat down next to me, legs kicked out in front of him and arms propped back. "You know, my parents died when I was kid," he suddenly said.

"Oh," I lowered my head a bit.

"Yeah, my old man was a jerk," Barton scratched the back of his head non-committedly. "Wasn't too sorry for him. But my mom... I still miss her. There's just something not right about having your parents one day and then you blink and..."

"It's like they were photographs the entire time," I finished quietly. Barton gave me a look.

"Is that what you were dreaming about? Your parents' death?"

I shook my head slightly. "No. I saw... I saw them die not in the way they actually did. I watched them be murdered by their own legacies. And I couldn't even reach out to them."

There was silence for a moment. "Legacies?" Barton questioned.

I took a slow breath, my mind gradually calming down. "You know, I don't have to tell you everything."

"I'm not saying you have to. I'm just saying, 'cause I've had my fair share of nightmares, that talking about it helps."

"Makes sense." I turned my head to look at Barton, whose face was calm. "You've had nightmares? About missions, I suppose."

"Yeah," Barton shrugged. "During the Battle of New York- well, before it, actually, I ran into a rogue Asgardian. He sorta brainwashed me, made me kill some people and do some bad things- but the worst part was that it was like being unmade. He just reached into my mind and scooped everything out, and filled it all with lies."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"... you know... I've never really been brainwashed, but I've been leveraged into bad situations. Situations where I've taken the lower road."

"Mm-hm?"

I looked up at the faint stars. "My parents..." I paused, not daring to look over at Barton. 

He didn't say anything. So I took a breath and opened my mouth.

"My parents loved me more than anything else. My mom was probably the sweetest woman you'd ever find in the nine realms. She loved her garden, loved Papa, and loved me. But if you crossed her, she'd burn you in a second. That was her... legacy. Fire. She'd bend and weave sunlight into golden swirls, and sometimes she'd reach out towards the fireplace and make the flames dance." I smiled at the vague memories.

"And Papa, he was a lot like me, now that I think of it. Quiet, clever, preferring books to people. But he was bigger and stronger. He was like... what's that monster from Greek myths... Medusa? He could turn things to marble just by touching them. We had a statue collection that was made all by him. But even though Papa was slow to trust, he still cared about the world, and where it was headed and who was leading it."

"They sound great," Barton said quietly.

"They were," I traced lines in the gravel with my finger. "They- they weren't just killed. They were murdered. By one of their own. Someone who they trusted and loved. And I was just a kid. I was eight when I watched them die."

I heard a soft rustling sound from beside me, and then a hand was patting me on the shoulder gently.

"Jesus, kid," Barton said. "No wonder you hate SHIELD with a passion. You don't believe in anyone, not anymore."

"Not since my parents were murdered by misplaced trust," I finished. "I don't even think trust is possible for me."

"Yeah, well," Barton said. "Just do what we assassins do."

"And what's that?"

"Fake it 'til you make it."

"I failed theater."

"I'm making an effort here, you know."

"It's not my fault that apocalypses aren't considered appropriate for improvisation scenes."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Huh."

"Yeah, go figure."

"Gale?"

"What?"

"Do you really have nightmares like that every night?"

"Not every night, no. But... once I get low, or sad, or stressed... sometimes a chain gets set in motion. I have to ride through the nightmares before they stop. They don't get easier, though. Each time the pattern repeats, they get worse. I barely made it through the last time. And now, with everything that's happened..."

"Well... if you ever need to blow off some steam, the gym's always open. So is the firing range, but I doubt you know anything about guns and knives."

"Appreciated."

"It's nothing. And... I'm kinda wondering why you told me about your parents. You've never said a word about them before. What changed?"

I took a deep breath, turning the words over in my head. "Look, Barton, even though you're a downright annoying meat puppet-"

"Hey, I though we were getting somewhere." He frowned at me.

I shook my head. "Let me finish. See, I know that you're also an agent. A, quite frankly, extraordinary one. I know you follow orders. You've got yourself a cause you believe in, one that you can fight and maybe die for."

Barton tilted his head, confused. "And?"

"I've got nothing to fight for," I shrugged simply. "So I don't really care what other people think of me, or what they want to do to me. But I know what'll kill me. And because of that, I care enough to keep my life secret."

"That doesn't answer my question. I think."

I sighed, staring out at the city lights. "I don't like being indebted to people any way, shape, or form. You calmed me down after- after the nightmare, so you deserve to know why I had it in the first place. Nothing more, nothing less. Now we're even."

"You're really analytical," Barton remarked. "Everything's a system of points with you, isn't it? Black and white, right and wrong. Nothing grey or in between."

I let out a humorless chuckle. "You forget, Barton, that I'm neither black nor white, right nor wrong."

Barton leaned his head back and groaned. "Will you ever stop speaking in riddles?"

"Depends," I said. "Will you ever stop stalking me?"

"Observation detail," he grumbled. "It's called observation detail."

"Either way, I'll never be left alone again for the rest of my life."

"Pessimism helps no one."

"I'm alive because I assume everything will go wrong and everyone will try to kill you. Isn't that basically your job description?"

"Stop doing that."

"Proving you wrong?"

"Talking."

"Back at you."

"Someone's feeling much better, obviously."

"... yeah, I guess. It's nice and breezy up here, and the city's pretty from up high. Lots of movement, lots of order."

"Order? Seems chaotic to me. Everyone's trying to get somewhere."

"You're under the impression that order and chaos are opposites."

"Please shut up before my brain liquefies."

"Fine, Birdbrain."

"Finally, pipsqueak."

"Gimme ten minutes more up here. Just some time to catch my breath."

"Okay, speaking of which, since you control the wind can you actually physically _catch_ your breath-"

"I will strangle you with this blanket."

"Deep breaths, Gale, count to ten and let the anger pass."

"You know I'll do it."

"Come on, I had to take anger management classes once. At least let me use what I learned."

"Anger management classes? Do tell."

"That's classified."

"Seriously? Fine, I'll just ask Romanoff."

"No luck there, kiddo. We both swore never speak of the Budapest incident ever again."

"Budapest?"

"What's that?"

"What- oh, very funny."

"Ha, I'm hilarious."

"I hate you."

"But you said I was an 'extraordinary agent'."

"I'm deeply regretting my words."

"Too bad, 'cause now you can't take them back."

"I hate you."

"You've only said it a million times."

"Guess so."

"You hate everyone, don't you?"

"Well, Pepper's nice, and Dr. Banner isn't so bad."

"Why do you hate me, then? Ignoring the fact that I shot you, and we basically almost kill each other each day."

"I... I'm not too sure. I guess it's just... I went seven years without being noticed. And then one day, I get beaten by a smart-mouthed archer who made it seem like a regular mission. Like I wasn't a challenge."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you weren't an easy target."

"Thanks. I think."

"Nah, whatever. In that case, I hate you right back."

"That's my line."

"Not anymore."

"I hate you."

"Hate you too."


	19. By the way, “personal space” is spelled “g-o-f-u-d-g-e-o-f-f”

Author's Note: Okay, so I was wondering if you guys would like me to include links to Polyvore for clothes sets, or just add more visuals in general. Just tell me in the comments, and I'll try to figure out what works best for you guys. Anyway, enjoy! 

I stumbled into the kitchen, feet dragged against the cool floor.

"Good morning, Gale," Pepper greeted me, her voice a bit tense and wary.

I grunted, not willing to commit to a verbal response. Squinting my tired eyes, I lurched over to the coffee machine and passive-aggressively slapped my hand against the buttons.

"Did you, um... get some rest?" She asked awkwardly from where she was seated at the table.

I sighed and shook my head, staring down at the coffee pot. Then I heard Barton yawn as he walked into the room. He came over next to me and started the machine, something that I lacked the mental awareness to do. Both of of just stood there in baggy t-shirts and lounge pants, dazed with sleepiness.

Coming a bit more awake, I coaxed a tendril of wind to open a cabinet drawer and bring out a box of cereal. Grabbing it with my hand, I snatched a bowl from the counter and filled it with the Cocoa Crispies.

Barton tried to reach for the cereal, but I smacked him upside the head and glared at him silently. Barton made a face at me, but relinquished the box and instead filled a mug up with piping hot coffee. He turned around and sat down at the table, across from Pepper.

I got my own cup of coffee and plopped down in a chair on one of the two uninhabited sides of the table. Shoving a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, I gave myself a mental face-slap to wake myself up. It failed. Miserably.

"Wait a second..." Pepper started, setting down her cup of tea. She looked between me and Barton, frowning. "You two just came in here and sat down."

"That a problem?" I grumbled, fully aware that my messy hair and current facial expression made me resemble an ogre.

"You didn't say anything," Pepper continued.

"Is that supposed to make me understand what you're saying?" Barton asked her, taking a sip of coffee.

"Without proclaiming your intense hatred for each other," Pepper finished, eyebrows raised. "I think that's the most civil I've ever seen you two be."

I shrugged. "It's too early to summon my sarcasm."

"It's half past eight."

"Exactly," Barton waved his mug at Pepper. "Too early."

"Not for the rest of the world," the woman smiled lightly. 

"Hello, my minions!" Stark cried out loudly as he waltzed into the kitchen, Dr. Banner following close behind. Barton and I immediately shot him a terrifying glare.

"Please shut the frick up," I told him semi-politely.

"Hey, Gale's up and at 'em," Stark remarked and sat down with an arm around Pepper. He threw a sideways glance my way hesitantly, but I decided to ignore it.

"How are you doing?" Dr. Banner asked me quietly.

"Well," I said as I gulped down some coffee. "This coffee is actually good for once. Kudos to Pigeonbutt for that."

"Much obliged," Barton replied.

"Whoa, hold up," Stark interrupted. "They didn't threaten to kill each other. Who are you guys, and what have you done with Legolas and Juvie?"

"I will stab you in the face," I told him frankly.

"Yeah right, like you can even-" Stark broke off as Pepper elbowed him. 

"Aw, I wasn't invited to the party." Romanoff had silently entered the room unbeknownst to me and was leaning back against the wall, wearing a hoodie that I was pretty sure belonged to Barton.

"I wasn't aware this _was_ a party," I remarked. Narrowing my eyes, I looked around the room at all the adults, who had somehow congregated in a rough semi-circle around me. "In fact, correct me if I'm wrong, but add one Captain America and we've got an Avengers meeting. Minus the Asgardian spark-plug."

Rogers walked into the room, already dressed for the day in clean, neat clothes. "We just wanted to talk with you a bit."

"Great!" I threw up my hands. "It's an intervention."

"No," Pepper shook her head, looking at me with a concerned expression. "It's just a talk."

I put my head down on my arms on the table. "I can't believe this is happening. It was just a dream, guys!"

"A dream that had you screaming and sent you straight into a panic attack," Romanoff added, glancing at me. "I don't think you've got a valid excuse to get out of this meeting."

Sighing, I raised my head and set my hands flat down on the table. "Look," I stated firmly. "I am _fine_. It was a _dream_. A dream that I have had several times before and know how to deal with."

"Several times?" Dr. Banner frowned. "You've gone through that more than once?"

"Note to self: shut up," I muttered under my breath.

"Gale, this is serious," Rogers began, looking at me with understanding. "PTSD doesn't stop at nightmares. It gets worse. You might start to have panic attacks in the daytime, seeing things, believing you're in danger when you're not."

"PTSD?" I raised my eyebrows at him. "Look, Captain, I get the fact that you've seen people deal with PTSD before and all, but I don't have it."

"Gale," Pepper interrupted. "Please, just listen to him."

"Gale, I understand if you don't want to admit that you have to deal with it," Rogers continued, taking a seat across from me, next to Barton. "But accepting the fact that something's wrong-"

"Is the first step?" I finished his sentence, voice dangerously low. "Let me tell you something, Captain. Ever since you _met_ me, I was dealing with it. Ever since I was _eight_ , I knew that something was wrong with me. Face the facts. I'm nothing that you've ever seen before. And because I choose _not_ to talk to you people, you will never see something like me again."

"Kid," Stark started. "You're not my favorite person, but even I have to say that last night, you kinda... scared us all."

"Scared you?" I frowned, tilting my head. "Why in the nine realms would I scare you? I'm fifteen, not Pennywise."

"You could've lost control of your powers," Romanoff cut to the chase. "And then we would've had a situation."

Everything was deadly silent. Romanoff stared calmly at me. I stared back, no emotion showing on my face. Everyone else was avoiding looking at either of us.

"Situation?" I repeated coldly. "And now I have my answer as to why SHIELD wants me under their thumb. Because I'm a _situation_ waiting to happen."

"That's not why we-" Barton started.

"You've been awful quiet," I told him. "By all means, go ahead and tell us all just how _badly_ SHIELD wants to help this poor, innocent, impressionable, _gifted_ young woman."

"All we want is to help you," Rogers insisted. "And we also want to keep _everybody_ safe- not just you."

"Categorization isn't assistance," I hissed at the blond man. "It makes you a number in a file on a computer screen. A statistic. A dot on a graph."

I leaned back in my seat, drumming my fingers on the table. "You guys are still acting like I'm gonna be here forever. Wake up and smell the bureaucracy, people."

"But I though Director Fury moved you here permanently," Pepper frowned.

"Pepper," I shook my head. "Don't be so quick to someone the benefit of the doubt. I don't believe in it. Benefit of the doubt only hurts you."

"Yeah, look where you are now," Stark snorted. "Locked up in a high-security tower, not being able to go down below the set of personal floors-"

"Tony," Rogers warned him.

"No, no," the billionaire continued. "I just wanna know why you think you're so better off not trusting people. I mean, I trust Pepper, and I trust Bruce, and I'm still kinda unsure how I feel about our resident assassins, but for the most part, I trust a bunch of people. And somehow, I'm not the one who has to go where SHIELD tells them."

Rogers, Dr. Banner, and Pepper all shifted uncomfortably, glancing over to where I was seated.

"It's alright, Romanoff, you don't have to use the gun under the table," I told the woman without looking away from Stark. "I am _very_ much in control of myself."

"Gale, you're just fifteen," Rogers assured me. "SHIELD won't-"

"Track me down, shoot me out of the sky, threaten my freedom, drug me, lock me up in a glass box, and never let me step outside again?" I interrupted. "Captain, I get that you're all for the freedom thing. You would have to change your name if you weren't. But please, don't be so unbearably naive. The second SHIELD doesn't want to waste time on me, or they think I'm a big enough threat, they'll march right up to this tower and force me into a little cage a mile underground."

I shrugged. "Dr. Banner is here because he's one of the smartest scientists in his field. Captain Rogers is here because he works for SHIELD. Take those things away and we three would have adjoining cells. Look, I don't have anything to offer your organization. The simple fact is that once I've outlived my use, I'll be gone forever and you all will forget I existed."

"I hardly think that's possible," Barton snorted. "Part of my left eyebrow still hasn't grow back from when you burned it off."

"I think we're getting off topic," Romanoff interjected. "We still need to figure out how to help Gale."

"For the last time," I took a deep breath, feeling a coldness wind up my spine ominously. "I. Don't. Need. Help."

"At least talk about it," Dr. Banner advised me. "Nothing harmful can come from that."

"Oh, but the second I open up to anyone, every word I say will be recorded and sent to SHIELD so they can figure out how to neutralize me." I made a face. "If you want to help me, take off these stupid cuffs and open a window. I'll be gone before you can say 'weird Russian teenager say what'." I held up my arms, the two thin black bands still tight and secure.

"Gale, you can't just brush off every attempt to try to get you to open up," Pepper told me.

"Watch me," I replied.

"Fine, then." Romanoff stood up from leaning against the wall and took a seat to my right. I gave her a wary look. "Twenty Questions, then. Everybody plays. No passes. Complete honesty."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," I stared at the red-headed assassin. "Twenty Questions?"

"It worked plenty well the first time," she shrugged.

"Uh, no, it didn't," Barton raised his hand. "I got choked."

"That's because you kept on prying into my personal life," I reminded him.

"Oh, right," Barton winced. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Okay, I'm seriously starting to freak out," Stark interrupted. "He just said 'sorry'. To _her_. And she didn't bite his head off."

"Get with the times," I said as I took a sip of my coffee.

"Question 1," Romanoff started. "Gale, what's your favorite color?"

I choked on my coffee. "Excuse me?"

"Non-intrusive questions are good to start off with," Romanoff reasoned.

"Uh..." I stared at her. "You already asked that last time... but it's grey."

"Right, color of the wind and all that," Stark nodded. "Carry on, Pocahontas."

"Alright, Stark," I turned to him with a smirk. "When did you stop sleeping with a teddy bear?"

"Oh, she went there," Barton muttered into his mug.

"Shut up," Stark glared at me.

"Answer the question," I reminded him.

"Now?" He whined, looking over at Pepper. I nodded. "Fine," Stark resigned. "I was twelve."

Barton sniggered. "Nice, Tony. I'm never forgetting that one."

"Okay, Barton," Stark said. "When did you first shoot yourself in the foot with an arrow?"

"Never," Barton replied promptly. Then Romanoff cleared her throat loudly, and Barton's ears turned red. "I was twenty-three," he admitted.

"I knew it!" I exclaimed, pointing my finger at the archer.

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect a flock of pigeons to fly in my face right as I tried to take a shot!" Barton defended. "But now it's your turn again, Gale. So... why do you say 'nine realms' all the time?"

I made a 'not-bad' face. "I was raised with the expectation of becoming an intellectual."

"That's a mouthful," Stark sniggered.

"It means that my parents wanted me to learn as much as possible about the world, how it worked, and the people in it. That includes not only Earth, but Asgard, Helheim, Jotunheim, Vanaheim, and the other realms as well. Over time, I just got used to saying the phrase," I shrugged.

"Really?" Rogers asked, confused. "Are your powers related to Asgardians?"

"If I told you yes, you'd think I was here to take over," I chuckled. "So, to answer the question you're implying, I'm not secretly an Asgardian warrior set on destroying New York with an army of aliens." Well, that was close enough to the truth.

"I've got a question for Gale," Dr. Banner spoke up. "What did you want to be when you grew up?"

"Well," I drummed my fingers on the table. "I wanted to be alive, for one thing. See, that's kinda hard to do if you're hiding the fact you can bend a force of nature to your will. But other than that... I dunno. I wanted to take Alexei's place, once."

"Alexei?" Pepper asked.

"He was... a type of doctor, you could say."

"Your uncle," Dr. Banner nodded. I shot him a glare.

"Thank you for telling everyone that little fact," I told him.

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean-" Dr. Banner apologized.

"Save it," I waved a hand. "It's already happened."

"A doctor?" Romanoff asked me, continuing the question. "You don't seem like someone who's got a good bedside manner."

"I quickly re-evaluated my priorities," I admitted. "My powers are... a bit more offensive than what's needed for that profession."

"So you had an uncle," Rogers repeated.

"I loved him," I said, looking down at the table. "I trusted him with my life. So did my parents. But it didn't quite work out in the end." I saw Barton glance up at me when I said that, but I ignored it. "Alexei told me everything I needed to know to make my way in the world."

"So where is he?" Pepper asked.

"He's..." I rolled the words around in my head a bit before I spoke. "I cut off contact with him years ago."

"He was like you, wasn't he?" Romanoff guessed after a pause.

"And by that, you mean..." I trailed off uncertainly.

"He had powers," Romanoff clarified. "And your parents did too, didn't they? That's why you call your powers a legacy. Just how many of you are there?"

"Since when was this game 'Ask Gale whatever'?" I chuckled, but I began to feel a bit nervous.

"No," Stark said. "I wanna hear this too. Some people get powers from radiation, like Brucie here, and some people get them from serums like Steve. But from what you've said, it sounds genetic. How is that even possible?"

"Okay," I cut across Stark's speech. "I know Romanoff said 'no passes', but let's switch topics now."

"But genetic superpowers-" The billionaire broke off. "Holy- are you a mutant or something?"

"No," I answered, shifting in my seat. "But-"

"Did your family do experiments on themselves or what?" Stark continued, leaning forward with curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "I mean, you're theoretically impossible. You can't have superpowers be passed down from parent to child without a stabilizing component in your DNA."

"Look," I said, my vision beginning to grow silver at the edges. "I really don't want to-"

"But how did you get your powers in the first place?" Stark stubbornly went on.

"Tony, she doesn't have to answer if she doesn't want to," Barton told Stark. "It's personal. That's a no."

Everybody else was quiet after that. Stark just sat back in his seat, looking up at me every now and then. I shot Barton a silent look of gratitude, and he nodded slightly in return. Everybody else just tried to not look incredibly awkward.

"But anyway," I began, attention drawing back to me. "Happy Birthday, Rogers."

"What?" The soldier looked confused.

"Well," I amended. "It was a couple of days ago. So happy late birthday, then."

"Uh, thanks," Rogers replied, still confused.

"Yeah," I nodded, looking back down at the table. "Okay! Well, I've filled my daily quota of social interaction, so I'm just gonna skip up to my room and not come out until dinner." Standing up, I put my coffee mug and cereal bowl on the counter and trudged out of the room, leaving six confused adults.

In my room, I opened my closet and made the executive decision that I would never care enough about clothes to have a dry-cleaning rack in the back. But at least I had ordered my own clothes- if somebody had tried to shop for me, well, it wouldn't exactly end nicely.

I ended up changing out of my pajamas into a simple pair of jeans and a dark purple t-shirt, once again opting to not wear shoes. Brushing out my hair, I noticed that it was getting rather long- almost to my waist, in fact. I'd have to cut it again soon. But for now, I wove it quickly into a simply braid that would keep my hair out of my face and untangled.

Then someone knocked on the door. Confused, I walked back over to the door and opened it.

Barton stood there, dressed in all black pants, shirt, and shoes. He had a large trash bag filled with something sitting on the ground next to him.

"Good, you're ready," Barton grinned when he saw me.

"For what?" I asked, frowning. 

"Revenge." Barton opened the bag and showed me the contents.

I felt a wicked grin slid over my face. "Where'd you get this stuff?"

"I have a not-so-legal stash in the Helicarrier and in this tower," Barton admitted. "So, you in?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

Ten minutes later, Barton and I were standing behind the door that led to Stark's lab. I readjusted the altitude goggles on my forehead, and fiddled with the harness on my back.

"Alright," I took a deep breath. "Let's screw shiz up."

Barton responded by kicking open the door with a bang. He and I rushed into the lab, weapons raised. Dr. Banner and Stark were standing next to a work table covered with papers and bits of machines, both of them looking very confused and somewhat shocked.

"What are you guys doing?" Stark demanded.

I raised my gun, aimed it straight at him, and pulled the trigger. A foam bullet flew through the air and smacked the billionaire right in the chest.

"This is war," Barton told the men, before pulling a Nerf gun out and leveling it at Stark's head.

"Uh, I'm just gonna-" Dr. Banner said as he began to move away from the three of us.

"Right! Of course!" I said as I marched over to the doctor and lightly pulled him to the side. I handed him a small pistol and an extra ammo clip. "If you're worried about turning green, then just hide out in here. If you think you can take total warfare, then by all means, join in."

"Can I move before Legolas shoots me?" Stark called over from where he was standing, hands raised.

"Well, you can, but you'll still get hit," I scratched the back of my head with the barrel of my gun.

Just to prove a point, Barton fired a couple bullets, all of them hitting Stark between the eyes. The billionaire dove under the lab table for cover, yelping in protest.

"Alright, Birdbrain," I walked back over to Barton. "Let's round all these idiots up."

Barton smirked as he grabbed Stark with his free hand and yanked him upright. Even though Stark was muttering profanities, Barton just dragged him towards the lab door and out into the hall.

As I went to exit the lab, I looked back over my shoulder at Dr. Banner, who was just standing there aimlessly, holding the Nerf gun in his hands.

"You know," I started. "If you want people to treat you like nothing's wrong, you have to prove it first. Like I told you before- nobody's gonna help you until they think you're worth the effort. So prove they can let you be normal. Prove that you're gonna be worth it."

With that, I walked out of the lab and towards the common room, and heard no footsteps following. There, Barton had already located Romanoff and Rogers, who were standing near Stark (who still looked frazzled).

"Bruce not coming?" Barton asked as I neared them.

"Eh." I shrugged. "His choice."

"Clint, what's going on?" Rogers asked, confused.

"This is revenge," I replied promptly. "For invading my personal space and making me feel uncomfortable."

"So we're going to give you guys a five minute head start, and then we'll hunt you down and make you wish you'd never been born," Barton added.

"What?!" Stark spluttered. "No fair!"

I glared at him, my eyes flashing silver for a second. "Wanna run that by me again?"

"No," Stark hastily replied. "I'm good."

"And the rules," Barton continued. "You can go anywhere in the personal floors, roof excluded. There are several Nerf weapons stashed throughout the tower. If you find one, you can use it to protect yourself. Alliances may be formed, but..."

"They probably won't help anyone," I interjected.

"Right," Barton nodded, and looked back down at me. "Anything I'm forgetting, featherweight?"

"Oh!" I said as I recalled something. "JARVIS will be keeping track of how many hits you get and where. Once Eaglepoop and I decide you've had enough, we'll tally up points back here and the biggest loser has to volunteer for target practice."

Rogers gave a little chuckle. "Since when are you two working together?"

"Oh, we're not," I replied promptly. "As soon as Barton stops being useful to my revenge plots, he'll be next on the list."

"And she's still a snot-nosed little punk," Barton spoke up. "But she also has superpowers and I like screwing with people. It works out until we decide to wage war with each other."

"Yup," I nodded. "Temporary alliance." I glanced up at Barton. "FYI, you should probably prepare for utter retaliation tomorrow."

"Really?" Barton asked. "Okay, then. Oh, and by the way, I ordered another box of silly string. It's in the gym. I already divided it up evenly."

"Got it," I said. "Now where were we?"

Stark, Rogers, and Romanoff were all staring at us. Barton and I made confused faces at them. "Uh," Stark spoke up. "I'm gonna pretend that's completely normal now. So... what if we don't want to play your little war game?"

"JARVIS?" I called upwards.

"Initiating game mode," JARVIS replied coolly in his British accent. Immediately,, the windows dimmed and the overhead lights switched to red. "Elevator system is currently offline."

"JARVIS, you traitor," Stark muttered.

"I convinced him that this would have numerous psychological benefits," I admitted. "Such as increased hand-eye coordination and reflex-reactions."

"And your five minute head start begins..." Barton glanced at his watch. "Now."

Romanoff instantly sprinted towards the stairs, while Stark rushed down to his lab. Rogers just sorta... stood there, uncertain.

"I hope you brought your shield," I told him frankly. "Because I'm not afraid to aim where it hurts."

That got Rogers moving. He disappeared down one of the hallways, vanishing in a matter of seconds. I turned to Barton.

"So, who do you wanna take?" I asked him.

"I was thinking about getting Tasha," Barton offered. "If you take Tony, we can team up on Capsicle after."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed. Pulling a compact machine gun from the harness on my back, I pumped it and headed towards Stark's lab.

"Whoa, what happened to five minutes?" Barton stopped me.

I grinned at him, loading an extra ammo clip into the Nerf gun. "Five minutes, five seconds, you know how bad I am at math. I never finished high school, remember?"

With that, I quietly ran down the hall to the lab, making sure to be extra quiet. The red lights made everything appear darker, and I could feel my eyes straining to see well.

Reaching the door, which was ajar, I snuck inside, keeping low to the ground. I couldn't see Stark anywhere, which worried me. He couldn't have gone anywhere else, and if I couldn't see him that meant-

A bright white light suddenly came from my left, and before I knew it, I was knocked backwards into one of the lab tables.

"Gotcha, Juvie," I heard Stark gloating.

I groaned as I picked myself upright. Stark was standing there, one of his arms outstretched with an Iron Man glove on his hand.

"Clever," I grumbled. Yanking my shot gun upright, I fired three rounds at Stark, all of them hitting his body.

"Hey!" The man yelped, arms flying to protect his face. In his confusion, I dove behind a lab table, quickly reloading my Nerf gun.

"Come on, Stark, don't tell me you're just gonna use your tech," I called out. Immediately after, I began to sneak around the other side of the table, trying to get at Stark from the other direction.

"Well, it's not like I've got a plethora of options," Stark replied.

I peeked around to the edge of the table. Stark was walking towards the table, on the other side. Perfect. Just as he rounded the corner, I crouched down and basically sprinted around the table.

"Ha!" I cried as I sprung up to the full height and emptied my ammo clip at Stark's back. He spun around, trying to block some of the foam bullets with his hands. Stark fired another repulser beam at me, and I narrowly dodged it.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that!" Stark cried as I ran out of ammo.

"Fudge!" I shouted as turned heel and dashed out of the lab, Stark following close behind.

When I reached the common room, I vaulted up the steps to the second tier, hiding in the shadows. Stark burst into the room, looking around wildly for any sign of me. As quietly as I could, I slung the machine gun back into its harness and pulled out my original gun- a medium sized weapon that had detachable parts that made it better for certain functions. Grinning as I screwed on a longer barrel, I snapped an ammo clip into the gun, and attached the shoulder piece. And now I had a loaded sniper rifle.

"Come on, Gale," Stark called out. "You can't run and hide forever."

Chuckling, I fired a shot at Stark. Using my limited control over the wind (still not being at full strength), I guided the bullet so it smacked Stark right on the nose.

"That's no fair!" He cried out, raising his robotic glove and turning around, looking for me. "No superpowers!"

"You're using your tech!" I shouted back. Stark fired a beam at the sound of my voice, and it hit the wall right next to me. I threw myself backwards out of reflex, and ended up tumbling back down the stairs to the ground.

"Oh," I groaned. "Mental note: shut up."

"Got you now, Juvie," Stark gloated, walking over to me and pointing his glowing repulser emitter at my face. "Surrender?"

"Hm, let me think about that," I pretended to mull it over. Then I kicked one of my legs at the back of Stark's knee, and he crumple to the floor. Quick as a flash, I sat down on his back and pulled out a handful of heavy-duty zipties.

"Get off me!" Stark cried, trying to throw me off.

Humming cheerfully, I tied his wrists and thumbs together behind his back, and then got his ankles. "You know, I was able to contain a caffeinated Rottweiler when I was six years old," I told Stark offhandedly. "You really don't stand a chance."

Standing up straight, I viewed my work appreciatively. Stark was writhing on the ground, unable to flip himself over or break the zipties. And as an after-thought, I took a pen from a nearby table and jammed it into the Iron Man glove, rendering it useless.

"For God's sake, Gale, let me-" Stark grumbled as he attempted to break free.

"And... I'm gonna go see how Barton's doing," I smiled widely down at the billionaire. "Don't go anywhere."

"You friggin'-" Stark muttered, but I was already heading towards the stairs.

The stairs weren't ever used. I mean, there was an elevator. Why would you bother with stairs in the first place? I certainly never had. So I was walking into an unfamiliar environment where two master assassins were engaged in Nerf warfare.

Yeah, I was pretty screwed.

I started moving up the stairs, but a moment later, someone ran down right into me. I fell backwards, but the person grabbed my arm to steady me.

"We gotta go!" Barton told me urgently, eyes wide.

"What?" I said, baffled. "I took care of Stark. What about your partner?" 

"She teamed up with Steve," Barton said, looking over his shoulder as he dragged me back into a small off-shoot of the stair well.

"And?" I asked, beginning to dread the answer.

"He's got his shield. And Tasha found, like, _every_ Nerf weapon we hid." Barton stopped as he reached one of the air vents, which was about six feet off the ground. He quickly removed the grate and clasped his hands together, palms facing up.

"Up you go," Barton told me as I put a foot on his hands and he boosted me up into the vent. Wriggling forward, Barton hopped in after me and pulled the grate back over the opening.

"Where are we going?" I whispered.

"The gym," Barton whispered back. "Move!"

I scrambled forward, trying not to make too much noise. There was enough room for me to push myself forward with my hands and feet, but I couldn't do much else. And it was incredibly dark, to say the least.

"God, you're slow," Barton muttered from behind me.

"Watch it, Birdbrain," I warned him. "Wouldn't want to burn off your other eyebrow. Oh wait. I would."

"Shut it and just crawl, for heaven's sake," Barton hissed.

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes, but continued moving. 

"Okay, left here," Barton told me as we reached an intersection. I wiggled around the tight corner, and the metal vent began to slope upwards.

"Jesus, this is the way to the gym?" I huffed, the vent inclining heavily now. My foot slipped, hitting Barton's shoulder.

"Hey, watch it!" Barton complained.

"Don't follow so closely, then!"

I turned back ahead, and groaned as I saw what lay up ahead. The vent ascended vertically a couple meters ahead, and I couldn't see how far up it went.

"What's the hold up?" Barton asked from behind me.

"It goes straight up," I hissed back at him. "And maybe you can't remember this tiny fact, but I'm not strong enough to fly yet!"

"Just climb!"

"Easier said than done!"

Barton groaned. "Okay, then just do what I tell you, got it? Get over there and stand up."

"Fine," I grumbled. I crawled forward to the shaft, and squeezed myself so I was standing upright. "What now?"

"Put your hands on either side of the vent and push out. It'll hold you up decently," Barton reached a hand out and pointed up the shaft. "The top is only ten feet upwards, so-"

"Ten feet?!" I angrily whispered down at the man.

"Just do it, okay? If Nat catches us here we'll be dead before you know it!" Barton glared back at me.

Biting back a seething retort in Russian, I placed my palms out against the cool metal of the vent. Gritting my teeth, I began to slowly haul myself upwards, pushing on the shaft with my feet as soon as I got off the ground.

Barton wiggled out into the vertical area, and began to stand up. He started to do what he had told me- ninja crawling his way up the vent.

Then my feet slipped, and I lurched downwards. My knee hit Barton's shoulder, making him loose his grip and slide downwards a bit.

"Jesus!" Barton cried out.

"What did I tell you about following too closely?!" I shot back at him. Kicking out my legs and feeling them make contact, I tried to boost myself up.

"That's my face!" Barton's muffled voice protested.

"Boo hoo, cry me a river," I snapped, pushing myself upwards. My hands reached the top of the vent, and I reached to find any purchase on the metal. "Hold still," I whispered down to Barton. Placing my foot on top of his head, I managed to boost myself up just far enough to get my upper body into the vent.

"Would you stop doing that?" Barton climbed up the vent until he was level with the section I was in.

"Stop getting in my way and then we'll talk," I replied, crawling forward into the vent.

"Wait a second, Gale," Barton hurriedly said. "It goes straight-"

The metal surface disappeared from underneath me, and before I could even register that fact, I plummeted downwards.

Yelping, I twisted my body just in time as the vent ended, but I didn't stop there. I hit the grate and flew out of the vent back first, and hit the ground hard.

Struggling to regain my breath for a moment, I saw Barton slid out of the vent much more gracefully. "You... utter.... butthole," I gasped.

"Well, you're not wrong there," a familiar voice came from behind us.

Barton's eyes went so wide I could the whites. Frantically scrambling to my feet, I whirled around.

There stood Romanoff, holding a loaded Nerf gun in one hand and a foam sword in the other. Rogers stood a bit behind her, armed with his shield and a little pistol.

"Really, Clint?" Romanoff smirked. "The gym? So predictable."

"It was worth a shot," Barton said feebly.

"JARVIS?" Romanoff called upwards. The regular lights switched on, making me wince in the sudden light. 

I noticed that the gym had been cleared of all obstacles. The weights, punching bags, and wrestling mats had all been pushed off to the sides, giving no chance of cover.

"We sort of figured out how to get JARVIS to listen to us," Rogers admitted, managing to look completely innocent at the same time. "Something about... psychological benefits of challenges, wasn't it, Natasha?"

"You are _exactly_ right," Romanoff smiled widely at us.

"I think I just wet my pants a little," I whispered. 

"You're not the only one," Barton whispered back.

"Now, shall we play a game?" Romanoff asked. Without waiting for an answer, she fired her gun at Barton, who immediately retaliated in the same fashion.

I moved away from the two assassins, who were ducking foam bullets and weaving around each other at insane speeds. In fact, I was so entranced by watching them fight that I forgot the genetically enhanced super soldier in the room.

A foam bullet whizzed by my nose, missing by a centimeter. I lurched backwards, and turned around to face Rogers. "You started this," he reminded me.

"Great," I muttered. "Now I'm _really_ screwed." I pulled out my Nerf gun and quickly removed the shoulder piece and the barrel, letting the plastic pieces fall to the ground. Now I had a simple but powerful blaster.

Firing a shot at Rogers as I ran to the right, the blond man raised his shield to block the foam bullet. Rogers fired another bullet at me, hitting me in the side.

"Hey!" I cried, rubbing my hip and glaring at Rogers.

"It's not _that_ bad," Rogers shook his head with a grin. As he lifted his gun again, I focused on the air around me, and just before he pulled the trigger, I made the wind knock the weapon out of his hands.

"You probably should've noticed that when you turned off game mode in here, the air conditioning came on too," I grinned at Rogers.

"Alright, Gale," Rogers chuckled, readying his shield on his left arm. "Do your worst."

I feinted to the right and shot left, but Rogers anticipated that and blocked my shot. But when he raised his shield, I rushed closer in his blind spot. I pulled out a little foam dagger and poked Rogers in the gut.

"Ha! Stabby stabby!" I cried gleefully. Rogers whirled around, his shield clipping me on the shoulder. I was knocked backwards, away from Rogers. Gritting my teeth, I realized that I was going to need a _serious_ advantage to win this fight.

"Oi, Barton!" I yelled.

"Little busy over here!" Barton grunted as one of Romanoff's spinning kicks landed in his gut.

"How's your Hawkeye-sight doing?" I said, eyeing Rogers warily. To my chagrin, the man was just standing there, sure and confident. It's like he was purposefully pulling his hits so he wouldn't hurt me or something... which he was probably doing... which made me even more cross.

"What?" Barton dodged a slice of foam sword. "Oh. _Oh!_ Yeah!"

"JARVIS, activate challenge mode!" I called up.

"As you wish, Gale," JARVIS replied.

The lights turned off again, but this time, they didn't come back on with the red filter or anything. The entire gym was plunged into darkness. I could barely see Rogers in front of me, who let out a tiny noise of surprise. The vent began to blow cold air into the room with force, creating an air current all around us.

"You wanted challenging?" I chuckled. "You got it."

I pulled the altitude goggles down over my eyes, completely blocked any light from reaching my eyes. I was now effectively blind. "Barton?" I called out.

"Take that, Nat," Barton shouted gleefully, and I heard the smack of fist on skin. "Uh, please don't kill me for that."

"What the heck, Gale?" Rogers said, bewildered. I felt a hand reach out in my direction, brushing against my shoulder. Reeling backwards, I teetered off balance and fell to the ground on my back.

"Shiz," I muttered. "Come on, Gale, pull yourself together."

"Gale!" Barton said loudly, and I could hear footsteps running around the gym. "Hurry up with it already! She's gonna catch me any second now!"

"Get back here you utter-" Romanoff spewed off a series of Russian words only Alexei let me say. Rogers was walking around, trying to find me but obviously failing.

"Okay," I told myself. "You got this."

I focused on calming my heartbeat, slowing my breathing, and relaxing my mind. The cold air flowing through the room ran lightly over my skin, sending a tingle up and down my spine.

With the complete absence of my sight, well- you know that thing where taking away one sense strengthens the others, right? My legacy was essentially another sense. So...

"Barton! Two o'clock!" I shouted, all of a sudden.

I heard the sound of a punch being blocked, and then more footsteps running around in circles. "Thanks, pipsqueak!" Barton yelled.

"How did you do that?" Romanoff said, confused.

"Circle to your left!" I shouted out, getting to my feet. There was a tiny pause. "Your other left!"

Then somebody ran straight into my back, knocking me forward. "Sorry," Barton muttered from behind me. "I can't see a dang thing."

"That's the point," I rolled my eyes, even though no one could see it.

"Okay, so it's a little dark," Romanoff spoke, her voice traveling around the room as she moved. "We're still gonna beat you."

"Straight ahead of you, a bit to the lower left," I murmured quietly to Barton, the sounds of the air conditioning blocking our voices from being heard otherwise.

Barton fired his gun in the direction I told him, and I could hear Rogers let out a tiny yelp. "Scared yet?" Barton taunted.

"Duck!" I hissed, and we both dropped to our knees. Something went whizzing over our heads, missing by and inch. 

"And..." I hesitated, feeling the currents of air flow through the room. "Ten o'clock. Forty-five degrees up."

Barton fired again, only one shot, and it made contact once more. 

"How are you doing that?" Rogers asked, bewildered. I began to pull Barton off in one direction quietly, but paused to open my mouth.

"Think about it real hard, Captain," I laughed. "It'll come to you."

Barton and I rushed into the dark, me guiding us around. We nearly hit a punching bag, but hey- I'm not perfect. Not even close.

"The air," Romanoff said from basically right next to us. "You're sensing where we are because the circulating air-"

"Goes around us. We're blocking the flow, and you can feel that," Rogers finished, from farther away. He chuckled lightly. "Smart."

I felt Romanoff start to walk away, so I tapped Barton on the shoulder. He tapped my shoulder back in understanding, and began to silently follow Romanoff.

I snuck back around the gym towards Rogers, making sure he wasn't moving towards me. I pulled a small Nerf sword from the harness on my back, and took a deep breath. I only had one shot at this...

I managed to bend a tiny current that was flowing near Barton, and made it circle around him a bit before moving on. That was the signal, now all I had to do was wait for a second... three... two... one...

I shot upright and stabbed Rogers with the sword, right as Barton unleashed a volley of foam darts on Romanoff. 

Rogers whirled around with frightening speed and hurled his shield in my direction. It slammed into my shoulder, throwing me back a couple of feet. I heard an audible popping sound, but brushed it off. Pulling my pistol out with my other hand, I let loose a rapid fire torrent of Nerf bullets. Most of them made contact, seeing as Rogers' shield was somewhere behind me. I was about to launch a second attack when-

"Ha!" Barton cried out. "JARVIS, game over!"

The lights overhead immediately switched on, making me squint in the sudden brightness. The air conditioning slowed to barely-noticeable hum. My left arm was aching a bit, but then again, I had just engaged in Nerf warfare with a super-soldier and two master assassins.

Barton had somehow disarmed Romanoff, who was on the ground with a Nerf gun pointed at her face. Rogers was standing about ten feet in front of me, looking extremely confused.

"Clint?" Rogers frowned, panting slightly.

"Aw, Nat," Barton cooed at Romanoff. "I finally beat you."

Romanoff glared at Barton, then swept his legs out from under him and pinned him to the ground. "Yeah, buddy?" She smirked. "You might wanna keep your mouth shut before something bad happens to you."

"I though you were fighting me," Rogers continued, looking at Barton. "But-"

"Oh." I said, quite plainly. "I think my shoulder's dislocated."

Three sets of eyes swiveled over to me. I was glancing down at my left shoulder, the one that Rogers hit with his shield. The top of my shoulder bone was slightly sticking out, and the rest of my arms was just hanging limply. A thin line of fresh blood was slowly trickling down towards my elbow, courtesy of a small cut just below the prominent bone.

"Jesus!" Barton's eyes went wide. Romanoff let him off the ground, and the man hurried over to me. "How the heck did that happen, pipsqueak?"

"I threw my shield at her," Rogers answered, looking concerned. All of a sudden, two very tall guys were hovering over me, making me feel very small indeed.

"Why'd you do that?"

"I thought she was you!"

I held up a hand, making Barton and Rogers quiet down. "Chill, guys." I examined my shoulder for a moment. Then I grasped my left arm just above the elbow, and in one swift motion, shoved my arm upwards back into the socket. There was a crackling pop, and a brief flash of pain.

"Jesus!" Barton repeated again, sucking in a breath. "Did you just-"

"Posterior shoulder subluxation," I said calmly, lightly touching the aching part of my arm, avoiding the bleeding cut. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Romanoff said, raising her eyebrows. "You just re-set a dislocated limb by yourself. How are you not crying?"

I rolled up the sleeve of my shirt to get a better look at the cut. "Eh, well, it wouldn't be the first time."

"Talk about pain tolerance," Barton shook his head. "Each time I think I get used to you- bam! you freak me out even more."

"I'll go get the First Aid kit," Rogers said aloud as he began to move towards the door of the gym.

"No need," I told him. Focusing on the remaining air currents in the room, I slowly brought them over to me, and gently pressed them to the cut. Silver wind-threads appeared, glowing softly above the torn skin. As they became tinted red, the flesh started to knit back together carefully. In the span of a couple seconds, the open wound turned into a raised bar of pink flesh, still tender and raw.

"How in the world did you do that?" Rogers muttered, taking a closer look at my arm.

"Like I said, my uncle was a sort of doctor," I shrugged, the motion sending little prickles of pain down my shoulder. "I learned a couple tricks. Like that."

Then a wave of dizziness swept over me, making me stumble over. Barton reached forward and quickly grabbed my uninjured arm, steadying me in place.

"Whoa." I blinked a couple times, spots appearing in my vision. "That was a bit too much in one day."

"You think?" Barton scoffed. "Come on, let's get you some food before you faint."

I rolled my eyes as I began walking towards the door, Barton following close behind. "I don't need an escort, Eaglepoop."

"Observation detail," Barton reminded me cheerfully.

As we exited the gym, I looked back over my shoulder at Rogers and Romanoff, who were looking at each other with slight confusion and weirded-out-ness.

"And, by the way," I grinned. "We won."

Barton laughed at that, and we resumed walking to the kitchen. When we got to the main room, I found that Stark was still zip-tied and wiggling on the floor.

"You friggin'-" Stark spewed off a flurry of expletives when he saw me.

"Nice work," Barton sniggered.

"Why thank you," I chuckled. "Now, how about you order some pizza and I'll round up everyone else?"

Barton opened his mouth to respond, when all of a sudden, a Nerf bullet sailed out of nowhere and hit me in the gut. Whirling around, I saw Dr. Banner standing there, holding the plastic gun I'd given him, with a little smile on his face.

"I know the game ended already," the man shrugged. "But I was honestly just waiting for the perfect moment."

I nodded, grinning at the doctor. "Well played, sir, well played."

"So you've been there the whole time, watching me struggle?" Stark snapped at Dr. Banner.

"Well, basically, yeah."

"Welcome to the winning party," I patted Dr. Banner on the shoulder. "Now, do you want cheese, pepperoni, or some other weird combo?"

"Uh," Dr. Banner frowned. "I'm good with anything."

"Meat lover's it is!" I cheered. Barton picked up the phone just inside the kitchen and began dialing.

"JARVIS, will you tell everyone that we've got pizza?" I called upwards.

"Happy to oblige," JARVIS responded.

I walked over to Stark, grabbed a pair of scissors from a nearby table, and cut the zipties off of his wrists and ankles. The billionaire leaped to his feet, glaring at me as he rubbed his hands.

"I'm gonna get revenge," Stark warned me.

"Go ahead," I smirked. "See how well that turns out."

Then Romanoff and Rogers came into the room. "JARVIS said there was pizza?" Romanoff asked. 

"Yup!" I smiled. "God, I'm starving."

Twenty minutes later, all six of us were sitting around the table, munching on big pieces of greasy pizza. It was pretty quiet, mostly because our mouths were full of food.

I swallowed the last bit of crust, and wiped my fingers on a paper napkin. "Well," I cleared my throat. "Pizza sure makes everything better."

"Amen," Barton muttered, raising his sixth slice in my direction.

"I have to admit," Rogers started. "That was fun."

"The pizza?" I frowned, leaning back in my chair.

"The game," he clarified, nodding at me. "It was a nice change of pace. Except for the part when I hurt you."

"Nah," I waved a hand. "It's cool. If I got angry at every person who wronged me, I'd be a cold and reclusive hermit who wants nothing to do with humanity." I paused, realizing what I just said. "Wait a sec-"

"So, Bruce," Romanoff said. The doctor, who was sitting on my right, looked up in confusion.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"What on earth got you to come out?" Romanoff rested her elbows on the table. "I mean, last time I checked, you weren't the kind to play war games like that."

"Well, I'm not," Dr. Banner shrugged. "But like Gale told me: I've gotta prove I can be normal. For the most part, at least."

The adults turned to me with surprise in their eyes. "Hey," I defended. "I'm not some fortune machine, giving out advice for a quarter. I can just... relate better."

"How so?" Stark asked, curious.

I gave him a guarded look. "For one, we both have something inside of us capable of killing. I'd say that goes a ways."

Cue the tangible awkwardness. Everyone tried to avoid my face.

"Okay, this has got to stop." I said loudly and clearly, setting my hands down on the table. "You all are acting like I'm a time bomb about to go off."

"In all fairness..." Stark started, trailing off.

"I get it," I cut him across. "You don't trust me. I don't trust you. I've cause you and SHIELD a lot of grief. And I'd give anything to get away from you guys for the rest of my life. But believe me- if I am about to lose control, in a _big_ way, you will know."

"How?" Rogers asked, not unkindly. 

"Oh, I'll tell you," I assured him. "Even though I don't like people in general, it doesn't mean that I like hurting them So if I start to lose it, I'll tell you, and then I'll try to regain control. It's simple. But if you keep treading on eggshells with me, then this whole 'staying in Avenger Tower' thing is going to crash and burn. Literally. That's what's gonna happen if I really get too angry."

There was a brief pause. "Okay," Barton was the first to speak. "I mean, look at who's sitting here: the Hulk, Iron Man, a pair of deadly assassins, and the soldier who basically won the war for us. It's not like we haven't all done things that make us dangerous and slightly untrustworthy."

"Speak for yourself," Stark muttered. "I don't think Capsicle has a mean bone in his body."

"Guys, I'm not asking for much," I sighed. "Honestly, I'm just tired. Mostly tired of dealing with SHIELD. So let's just agree on this: you leave my personal life alone, and I won't intentionally do everything in my power to wreak havoc."

"That's comforting," Dr. Banner remarked.

"I just want to be able to keep some secrets," I admitted. "I've got things I don't want to talk about. So don't poke that metaphorical bear with a hypothetical stick."

The adults took turns looking at each other, holding a silent conversation right in front of me. I drummed my fingers on the table, knocking out a tiny rhythm: _duh duh duh duh. One two three four._ Rapid, light, simple.

"I don't have a problem with it," Barton shrugged. "I don't like people prying into my life either."

"Since when are you agreeing with her?" Stark stared at Barton.

"Since she has a point," Barton replied, to my surprise.

There was another lull in conversation after that, but this one was considerably less awkward. We all just sorta stared at the table or the walls, sleepiness coming over as a result of eating a heavy meal like that.

But then, all of a sudden, I heard a peal of thunder overhead.

"What the-" I muttered, sitting up straight. "I though there were blue skies all this week."

"That's what the forecast was," Dr. Banner confirmed. "Unless-"

A roaring sound suddenly erupted from outside, making me flinch slightly. "I though he wasn't coming unless there was an emergency," Stark said to himself.

"What? Who are we talking about?" I asked in confusion. But the adults all stood up and began to hurry out of the kitchen. I quickly followed them out into the main room, where we then moved down the hallway that led to the landing pad for the Quinjet.

"Can someone please explain what's going on?" I complained, trailing behind everyone like a lost puppy.

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Barton grinned. "You're gonna love this guy."

I sighed heavily. "That literally doesn't answer anything I just asked."

We came out into the open air, on the landing pad. At the far end, I could see the metal floor had been burned with some sort of weaving pattern that was hard to distinguish. But standing there, in the middle of the landing pad, was a man, who was staring at our little group.

"Gale," Barton turned to me with a smile. "I'd like to introduce you to the final member of our team."


	20. Why didn’t I think of this duo sooner?

"Friends!" The man called out in a booming voice, striding towards us. He was dressed like someone out of a history textbook, with what seemed to me a metal and leather chest piece, and a long red cape. His blonde hair was pulled back from his temples, revealing a broad and happy face.

"Thor! Buddy, how ya doin'?" Stark laughed, stepping forward to meet the man.

"Thor?" I repeated, bewildered.

"Who else is in the Avengers?" Barton chuckled at me as Stark and Thor did the bro hug.

"It is good to see you all healthy and cheerful," Thor told Stark, looking around at the rest of the adults, who were all relaxed at the sight of their team member. "Are things well in Midgard?"

"Oh, yeah," Barton spoke up. "It's been great. I even got to use my new electric arrows a couple of months ago."

As discreetly as I could, I stomped on Barton's foot, causing him to recoil back into Romanoff, who pushed him into Rogers.

"Well, that worked better than I anticipated," I remarked casually.

Thor turned to me with surprise in his eyes. I guess I was better at being invisible than I thought. Then Thor's face broke out into a gigantic smile, beaming down at me from all six feet and three inches of him.

"Man of Iron! You and Lady Pepper of the Potts have conceived a child!" Thor said happily, and before I could even let out a good Russian curse, he took a big step forward and picked me up in a huge bear hug.

"Whoa, Thor! She's not- no way-" Stark spluttered.

"You know what they say about karma," Barton sniggered at me. "It's a real-"

"Help!" I gasped, the breath being forced out of my lung, and my face squished into Thor's chest.

"My apologies!" Thor cried, immediately releasing me. I dropped back to the ground, which was at least a couple feet below me.

"Jesus," I rasped, pressing my hands to my body. "My ribs _just_ healed, like, a couple weeks ago. I really don't want them to break again."

"Did I injure you?" Thor asked worriedly.

"Nah, she'll be fine," Barton waved a hand. 

"And I'm _not_ that idiot's kid," I muttered, gesturing at Stark, who let out an indignant 'hey!'.

"Then..." Thor trailed off, looking at Rogers uncertainly.

"No." I told him firmly.

"So... Eye of Hawks-" 

"Don't even go there," I threatened him. "I will burn your eyebrows off."

"She will," Barton nodded vehemently. "They take _forever_ to grow back."

"Then why are you here with these Midgardian champions?" Thor asked. "Are you the deadly one's apprentice?"

"Deadly one?" I frowned, confused.

Romanoff raised her hand. "That's me, and no. Gale... Gale's here because... you know what, let's just get inside and have a drink. It's a long story."

"Amen to that," I snorted, crossing my arms.

"Well, let us drink, then!" Thor declared, walking towards the entrance to the tower. The adults followed him, immediately striking up a conversation about something that happened yada-yada years ago with the blah-blah thingies in who-knows-what country.

"Really?" I said crossly to Barton as I headed inside. "You couldn't bother to tell me that the Prince of Asgard was dropping by?"

"Hey, don't look at me!" Barton protested as we came out into the main room. "I had no clue. Thor doesn't usually pay house visits."

Everybody else was at the bar already, and Stark was pouring drinks. Romanoff was sitting on top of the bar counter, Dr. Banner was seated near her, and Rogers was leaning against the counter. Thor already had a glass in his hand and was gesturing with it, obviously regaling some old event that happened.

"Alright, now we're talking," Barton said as he grabbed a glass with amber liquid from Stark, and took a sip.

"It's literally two in the afternoon," I told him. "You're pathetic."

"Keep on talking, featherweight," Barton chuckled. "Maybe someone will actually care."

"You weigh as much as a feather?" Thor looked shocked. "Is that normal for Midgardian children?" He moved towards me, as if to pick me up again to see how heavy I was.

"Okay, spark plug," I held up my hands. "Let's get one thing straight: I don't do hugs."

Thor paused, arms already half-raised. He awkwardly put them back down, giving me a curious glance. "So, you are Gale?" Thor switched topics.

"Yup," I nodded, taking a seat at the end of the bar.

"Why are you here with Stark?" He asked.

"Well," I thought it over. "You could say I'm a prisoner."

Thor looked very alarmed at that. "But you are a child!"

"A child who's _special_ ," I rolled my eyes. "A child who apparently is a threat to SHIELD."

"Special?"

Everyone, minus Thor, looked at me expectantly. Sighing, I held up a hand, palm up. Slowly, silver wind-threads came to live, whirling and spinning around, weaving between my fingers. And the familiar swirls appeared on my skin, running down from palm to elbow and pulsing slightly. Simple visual tricks like that never failed to show the marks.

"You are gifted," Thor said in awe.

I snapped my hand shut, the wind-threads and the pale marks fading to nothingness. "Yeah, that's the problem," I said bitterly. "Because I'm _gifted_ , I'm on SHIELD's radar. From now until I die, I have to go where they tell me to go, do what they order me to do, and most importantly, never use my powers in public."

"That seems unjust," Thor frowned, glancing at the other adults, some of which were shifting in their places awkwardly.

"Yeah, well," I shrugged, the movement tense. "Apparently saving lives isn't good enough to be trusted to be on your own."

"You are... a hero as well?" Thor guessed at that, tilting his head slightly.

"Oh, God no," I laughed, my voice high but clear as ice. "If anything, I'm a villain. A villain who literally doesn't do anything to purposefully hurt innocent people."

"So you are here..."

"Because this place has high enough security to keep me contained," I replied. "And because having five out of the six Avengers stopping by or living here regularly really puts a monkey wrench in my escape plans."

"And you let SHIELD treat you like this." Thor didn't look too happy.

"I don't have a choice," I corrected him. I stood up and walked over to the sink, where I filled a glass up with tap water. Taking a sip, I looked back at Thor. "But if I did, I'd be a thousand miles from here."

"Let's not forget the part about you losing control on us," Stark spoke up. "We're not just the bad guys here. You could've hurt someone."

"But I didn't," I glared at him.

"Tony's just saying that SHIELD does have reasons for its decisions," Romanoff told me.

"Every time I have used my powers in what you perceive as a negative action, I have been provoked," I hissed, eyes flashing silver. "You'd do well to remember that."

There was silence for a moment as each person tried not to look me in the eyes, including Thor. I told myself to take a breath, and calm down a bit.

"I'm..." I gritted my teeth, not wanting to finish my sentence. "Sorry."

Stark choked on his drink. "What?"

"You heard me," I told him, mouth settling into a stony expression. "That was uncalled for."

"That's it, the world's ending," Barton said as he downed the rest of his glass. "Gale knows what an apology is."

Dr. Banner nudged Barton in the side with his elbow. "Let it go, Clint. And thank you, Gale, for apologizing."

"Okay, let's drop this subject before it turns into a community circle," I suggested, going back to my original seat. "So, Magical Spark Plug of the Great Abs, what brings you to this obviously humble and modest abode?"

"Ah, yes!" Thor smiled again. "The Feast of Litha is approaching."

"Litha?" Rogers frowned in confusion.

"It's like a mid-summer festival," I answered, looking over at the soldier. "Like the summer solstice."

"Yes, exactly," Thor nodded at me. "It heralds the end of the warm seasons and the coming of autumn and the cold. We Asgardians celebrate it with a week of feasting and games, the last of the year before the winter comes."

"Yeah, it's kinda a big deal," I added. "But that's in June, isn't it? It's a week into July right now."

"Over the centuries, your world's seasons have shifted slightly," Thor answered. "Our festivals are kept on the same sun and moon cycle year after year."

"So, Point Break," Stark began. "Big festivals. Games. Sounds nice. Doesn't explain why you're here, though."

"Litha is a time of unity and celebration of battles won. And seeing as you five are the heroes of Midgard..." Thor grinned. "You all are invited."

"What?" Barton's eyes widened.

"You're kidding," Romanoff deadpanned.

"Nice," Stark smirked while nodding. "Can't wait."

"Great," I muttered, plopping my head down on the counter.

"What's wrong?" Dr. Banner asked.

"A week with you guys gone means that SHIELD's gonna tighten their grip," I told them, refusing to lift my head up from my arms. "Which means when you guys get back, you'll have to make a pit stop at the Helicarrier to pick me up from that shiny glass cage."

"Glass cage?" Thor repeated. "The one that held my brother?"

"I dunno anything about that," I shook my head. "But my SHIELD approved room for over a month was this fancy glass box with a bunch of buttons designed to keep me 'civil'. Honestly, it was like they were trying to tame a wild dog."

"Hm," Barton hummed, staring down at his glass, lost in thought. "But what if that didn't happen?"

"Excuse me?" Romanoff asked skeptically.

"How are you going to do that?" Rogers questioned.

"I mean, I'm her observation detail," Barton pointed out.

"Government appointed stalker," I corrected him.

"Shut it, pipsqueak," Barton fired back. "But seriously: observation detail means that I go where she goes. And who am I to deny an invitation from the Prince of Asgard? So Gale obviously goes where I go. I mean, if that's alright with Thor."

"You said you saved lives," Thor recalled, looking at me. "Of course you may come as well. I'm certain that my people will be happy to meet a Midgardian child."

"Okay, that's gotta stop," I said. "I mean- thank you _so_ much for that and all. But I'm not a child. I'm a person fully capable of operating independently."

"It's like calling her kid," Stark piped up. "You end up getting hurt. Literally. She will hunt you down and make you pay."

"A warrior child!" Thor exclaimed. I shot him a dangerous glare and raised one hand threateningly.

"I mean..." Thor trailed off warily. "A warrior apprentice!"

I nodded. "I'll take that."

"I'll have to tell Pepper," Stark mused. "She'll be by herself for a week, afterall."

"She'll get _so_ much work done," I muttered.

"So we'll be staying there overnight?" Romanoff asked Thor. "What should we pack?"

"Oh, nothing much," Thor assured her. "The weather is quite lovely. You won't need anything besides your normal clothes. But the feasts are formal, so you may wish to bring something slightly... finer."

"And... your dad's okay with this?" Dr. Banner said. "He's cool with six humans just showing up to a party in Asgard?"

"It took some... persuading," Thor admitted. "But our victories together have made Midgard a point of interest as of late. My father is interested in those who are responsible for protecting this realm."

"Right, well," I set my glass down on the table. "I'm just gonna head up to my room now. Maybe try and take a nap. Cool?" Without waiting for an answer, I headed off towards the elevator.

As I walked away, I heard Thor speak. "She is strange, isn't she?"

Barton chuckled. "You got no idea, Point Break."

I ignored them and went up to my room, feeling a bit tired after everything that had happened. 

Once inside, I collapsed belly-first on my bed. Jesus, I needed a break. First the nightmare, then the 'intervention', then the Nerf game, and now the Asgardian in the party room.

"Gale," JARVIS spoke up. "Mr. Barton wishes to inform you that the group will not be leaving for Asgard until the morning. He also says that if you want to rest, there are sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet in the kitchen."

"Tell 'im I say thanks," I said, voice muffled by the blankets. "And that I probably won't come down for dinner."

"Very well."

There was a brief pause, and I felt my muscles start to relax.

"Mr. Barton says that despite your current situation, you will be joining the team for dinner. He mentioned that there will be pasta and garlic bread."

"Tell him that I don't care what he thinks, I won't be hungry."

"Mr. Barton said that if you say that, I should tell you that I am obligated to divulge your location should he request it."

"Tell him to go screw off."

"He said that if you say that, I should tell you that he most certainly will not. I believe it to be in your best interests to do as he says."

"This isn't a hostage situation."

"Would you like me to tell him that?"

"Go ahead, JARVIS. Apparently you do as you please."

"I was programmed to do as such when requested."

"JARVIS, are you giving me attitude?"

"I am expressing multiple attitudes. To which are you referring?"

"Never change, JARVIS. Never change."

"I shall try."

"God, you're so British."

"Thank you, Gale."

I grinned into the blankets. Jeez, how did a guy like Tony Stark create such an awesome program like JARVIS? Heck, I didn't have a clue.

I guess it took a couple of minutes for me to actually stand up from the bed and walk over to the window. I hadn't been on the actual ground for months. Sure, I mean, at least the roof was outdoors, but other than that? I couldn't even recall how the grass in Central Park felt between my bare toes. 

Staring out over the city, I took a deep breath. Tomorrow, I guess I'd be looking at the Asgardian sky...

Asgard.

That's when the reality of it set in.

I had to cover my mouth to muffle the squeal that came out of me. Hopping up and down, I did a little victory dance. Asgard! Finally!

My parents had told me all about it. We had books in our library that dated back to the Vikings, with colored pictures of eight-legged horses and golden palaces and flying skiffs. I grew up with Norse myths, not fairy tales. And after fifteen years of knowing about the realm of Asgard, I was finally going to see it for myself.

Oh- Jesus.

I was going to be the first of my people to step foot in Asgard.

I was going to be a representation of our entire community, our complete existence.

My parents had told me that soon, something like that would happen. We'd finally make contact with Asgard after countless centuries, and after that... nobody knew. 

See, our people knew more than ordinary humans. We knew about Asgard way before anyone else did. We knew about the gods, and their magic, and their weapons. And for thousands of years, our people have been trying to reach Asgard.

And tomorrow, I'd be there.

I swear, I was getting grey hairs from all of the stress I was under.

All of a sudden, my hands began to shake. I needed to pack. I needed to get ready. I needed to prepare. Jesus, I was going to Asgard. I couldn't tell if the butterflies in my stomach were from excitement or nervousness. At this point, I didn't think it really mattered.

Asgard.

I let the word roll around in my mind, a genuine smile coming over my face as I stared out at New York City and imagined golden towers in place of skyscrapers.

I was going back.

Jesus... so... do I need a jacket? Or a sweater? Or a pull-over? Or a sweat-shirt? A hoodie?

God, I was turning into my mother.

I paused for a second, staring down at my feet. Turning into my mother... that's a phrase I never thought I'd think about myself. Mama was kind, she was gentle, she was warm. I was harsh, I was rough, I was cold. There's no way I'd ever turn out to be anywhere near like her.

I shook my head, trying to rid my mind of those memories. It was just me now, and I had to deal with it by myself.

"JARVIS, how long until dinner?" I called upwards as I opened my closet and rifled through the unsorted stacks of clothes.

"Approximately three hours, Gale."

"Great."

"Do you require anything else?"

"Nah, I'm good," I said, throwing a couple of shirts onto the bed behind me. "Oh, actually, do you have any idea what the temperature is like in Asgard? Because I don't wanna be walking around in a parka when it's summer dress weather. Not that I'd ever wear a summer dress."

"I'm afraid I do not know. Would you like me to ask Mr. Odinson?"

"No, it's okay," I shook my head. "I'm assuming it'll be warm, seeing as it's the summer festival we're going to."

"A wise assumption, miss."

"Don't call me 'miss. Makes me feel old."

"I could call you by your last name if you wish."

"Ha, right. I haven't used my last name in three years. You ain't getting it outta me now."

"It was merely a suggestion, Gale."

"Yeah, yeah. That's all, JARVIS."

"Very well."

I went back to my packing, tossing random articles of clothing over my shoulder. I hadn't really bothered to unpack the clothes into the closet. I just sorta lifted out the piles and put them in there. I wasn't one for that kinda fancy stuff.

Asgard.

The thought of it still made me smile. I honestly couldn't believe it was happening. Maybe I'd wake up the next moment and realize that Barton silly-stringed my room again. Maybe this really all was a crazy dream brought on by some late-night pizza.

I grinned from ear to ear as I yanked out a backpack from the closet. I honestly didn't think SHIELD would let me get one, mostly because it was something a person would use to run with. But apparently it passed their test.

It was big, big enough to easily hold clothes for a week, plus some more things on the side. The black fabric was divied up into three pockets: one main space, and two smaller ones. I rolled up my clothes into tight wads- it saved more space than just folding them- and placed them inside. After that, I added the notepad from the desk and a couple of pencils.

It's not like I had a lot to bring, anyways.

I decided to take a long shower, scrubbing away the dirt from the air vents and the dried blood from the cut on my shoulder. Rogers really wasn't holding back when he threw that shield. I'd hate to actually have to fight him, now that I think about it.

When I finally came back out into the main part of the bedroom, I stared at the backpack sitting on my bed. Tomorrow morning seemed like forever from now. Maybe I should just take a nap and rest for a bit...

No, that wasn't a solution. Nightmares. Nightmares would come and grab my mind with their venomous claws and make me think I was bathing in blood. Sleep wouldn't help anything.

I ended up turning on the television that was mounted on the wall across from my bed. The first station had something to do with a lost sea turtle baby. The second was about a high school that had its mascot be a real life rattle snake. I just flipped through the channels idly, not really paying attention, until-

I stopped.

"-and according to the new policies of local authority systems, the subject of powered individuals-" a brunette woman was speaking to a camera, in front of what seemed to be a court house.

I frowned, standing up from my seat on the bed. Turning up the volume, I watched the screen as a group of men in suits walked out of the building and down the marble steps, towards the reporter.

"-legal documents concerning the identification and processing of these people have been released for the public, headed by one man in particular," the woman stepped to the side, allowing one of the men to come forward to the camera.

"These actions will prove to be the safest decision the state of Georgia has ever made concerning these powered people," the man said, staring into the camera with dark blue eyes that contrasted with his white hair. "The police now have the state authority to enter any home believed to be housing one of these people without obtaining a warrant."

"And what do you say to those who believe this is a blatant disregard of personal privacy?" The woman asked.

The man stared at the camera and smiled a shark's smile, all teeth and no good will. "If these powered individuals are allowed to roam freely, going where they wish and imposing their will on hard-working, normal citizens, then chaos will ensue. I for one will not stand to watch the average person be hurt by powered threats whose weapons can only be truly neutralized with a bullet."

"Thank you, Mr. Reed," the woman said, and turned back to the camera. "As you can see, the government is taking big steps in ensuring the safety of every citizen-"

"Yeah, unless you can fly or spit fire from your mouth," I snorted. "Then we'll arrest you before you reach voting age."

"It's messed up," someone said from my left. Quickly looking to my side, I saw Barton standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching the screen.

"It's a shame," I said. "I wanted to visit the Atlanta Aquarium someday."

"-more states to follow such legislature-" the TV managed to say before I crossly switched it off.

"How you holding up?" Barton asked me, not moving from where he stood.

"Why do you ask?" I frowned, crossing my arms.

"You're deflecting," Barton pointed out.

Sighing, I ran my hands back through my hair. "I'm okay. Honestly, I am."

"This is 'okay' for you?" Barton raised his eyebrows. "Less than twelve hours ago, you woke up screaming from a nightmare. And then you got your shoulder dislocated this morning."

I shrugged. "It doesn't really register for me. Pain is pain. I've just learned how to ignore it."

"Sure, Terminator Jr.," Barton snorted. "That sounds healthy."

"Believe it or not, this is normal," I told him. "Injuries, nightmares, the unsavory side of life. I'm not a child anymore. I was doing fine on my own before SHIELD rolled up to the door. Or, rather, the tarp covering my old dumpster."

"How'd you get homeless in the first place?" Barton asked, leaning against the door frame. "I mean, I'd find an old warehouse, or an abandoned building, or at least something better than an alley."

I looked down at my feet, mulling my thoughts over in my head. "When I... see, when I came here to America, it was my first time. I felt like I needed eight more pairs of eyes to take all the sights in. But once I got over my wonder-struck impression, I realized just how monitored this country is. Phones are everywhere, taking videos. Cameras are at every corner, watching people go from place to place. Eyes are all around you, and I needed to be invisible."

"You could've changed your appearance," Barton said. "That's what I'd do if I didn't want to be noticed."

"I couldn't afford it," I shook my head. "Hair dye is pricey if you're using it year after year. And new clothes weren't exactly on my priority list. So I became the one thing that everybody's happy to ignore- just another person on the streets."

"Smart," Barton nodded. "Don't know why I thought otherwise."

"Smart?" I laughed. "I'm a stupid, annoying little brat according to you."

"Brat? Sure. Annoying? Definitely. But stupid?" Barton chuckled. "You said it yourself, you managed to avoid SHIELD for years. That's not stupid. That's smart. And a bit reckless, I guess."

"Right," I nodded, grinning. "So you never were reckless?"

"I didn't say that," Barton shook his head. I gave him a look. "But... yeah," he admitted. "I was a careless kid."

"It seems to have carried into your adulthood," I noted. "So why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be trading war stories with Thor or something?"

"JARVIS said you were gonna hole up in your room for the rest of the night," Barton shrugged. "I figured you wanted that. So I'm making you a compromise."

"What kind of compromise?" I asked, curious.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting on the roof with the rest of the Avengers, swallowing the last bit of pasta. There were a couple of folding chairs, occupied by Stark, Dr. Banner, Romanoff, and Rogers. Me, Barton, and Thor were sitting cross-legged on the gravel.

"I gotta admit," I started, taking a sip from my water glass. "This is a really nice alternative to being in a stuffy room indoors."

"I agree, Maiden Gale," Thor said, raising his glass of what seemed to be whiskey. "The city is most beautiful at this time."

It was sunset, and the sun was just dipping behind the outlines of the skyscrapers, lighting up the legions of glass windows in gold. The city lights weren't on yet, but the cars and the sounds of life seemed louder than ever.

I paused for a moment, tilting my head to the side. "Whatcha doing, pipsqueak?" Barton noticed me.

"You might wanna tell Pepper not to fly anywhere tomorrow," I said, still focused on what only I could sense. "There's a east wind coming in. Storm's brewing over the water."

"Close," Thor spoke up, looking at me. "It's a north-east wind. Bringing rain."

"No," I frowned at him. "It's definitely an east wind. No northerlies in sight."

"I'm centuries older than you," Thor chuckled. "I know what I speak of."

"I'm sorry, aren't you the god of thunder?" I asked him, a sly grin on my face. "Last time I checked, thunder happens _after_ the winds come in."

"Oh, she's going there," Stark muttered, looking between me and the Norse god like it was a tennis match.

"No, I'm definitely right," Thor said, sticking a finger up in the air. "And... it'll be here in twenty-seven hours."

"You're not factoring in the southern gyres. They'll speed it up," I sniffed delicately. "Nineteen hours tops."

"Twenty-seven."

"Nineteen."

"Twenty-seven."

"Nineteen."

Thor gave me a very irritated look. "I thought you could only create silver threads from the air."

"Don't question her, buddy," Barton warned him. "She'll prove you wrong, no matter the cost."

"And she's still got access to silly string," Romanoff interjected. "I also have no qualms about helping her."

"God, that's the last thing we need," Stark paled. "The Russian female duo."

I looked over to Romanoff with a gleam in my eyes. "How have we not realized this sooner?"

She mused it over for a second. "It's got potential. Can you walk through buildings without being caught by security personnel?"

"Siberia, human trafficking, in and out with another prisoner," I rolled my eyes. "How many times do I gotta say it before you believe me?"

"So you can do more than create strings?" Thor interrupted, looking at me curiously.

I put my bowl of pasta on the ground, and dusted my hands off on my legs. "Okay, demonstration time."

Barton and Stark let out an 'ooooh' as I cracked my knuckles. Every adult was staring at me now as I stood.

"Now," I began. "I'm not exactly at full strength but I'm close. Last night kinda set me back a bit. But... I should be able to..."

I backed up until I was standing near the edge of roof behind me, a bit away from the group. Holding out my arms, palms down, I closed my eyes.

Carefully, I reached out with my mind and felt for the breezes running through the city. A strong east wind... the hint of a south storm brewing... and no northerlies. No problem. I could work without those.

I felt the cool ice-water sensation running down from my heart to the tips of my fingers, winding around my arms like vines and calligraphy. Then, slowly rotating my arms upwards, I opened my eyes. My vision was tinted silver- my eyes must be glowing by now. Swirling marks trailed across my skin, quietly pulsing and slowly drifting in place.

The wind picked up around me, making the adults' clothes snap back and forth. Barton didn't look fazed, Thor was well on his way to being shocked, and the others were just apprehensive.

"Making glowing strings," I repeated Thor's words, laughing a bit. I could hear my voice resonating and conflicting with the wind, making flutter-waves that set the hairs on the back of my neck on end. "Come on. Gimme more credit than that."

And, I suppose, the wind-threads did appear. It was a side effect of using my powers, especially when I wasn't intentionally trying to keep a low profile. Silver streams wove themselves around my hands and fingers, like masses of light-filled yarn. I carefully curled my fingers back to my palms, and pulled my arms slightly upwards.

And slowly but surely, I began to lift off of the ground.

It was only a couple of feet, but for the first time in months, the ground wasn't pressing up against my feet. My hair was drifting in the air like I was underwater. And I could feel the wind threads, the ones that weren't tangled in my hands, coursing through my blood.

"This, this is what I can do," I chuckled.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

A sudden beeping sound broke me out of my wind-rush. I looked down, confused as to where the noise was coming- oh.

The two black cuffs around my wrists.

I had forgotten they were they, to be honest. They didn't rub, or chafe, and they were light enough to not be a constant presence. But now, now they were beeping a quick staccato, sending a warning to everyone nearby. It looked like my fun had to be cut short.

Gradually, I touched back to the ground, the sudden weight of my own body throwing me a bit off balance. My vision returned to normal, the grey tint fading back into color.

They were staring at me.

"Your skin..." Dr. Banner trailed off.

I looked down at my hands, and saw that the silver markings hadn't disappeared yet. "Yeah," I said offhandedly. "That'll be gone in a couple minutes." My fingers ghosted over the black cuffs, my mind ill at ease.

"Your adornments," Thor spoke. "They cause you pain?"

I looked over at the blonde Asgardian. "No," I finally shook my head. "They're more like a leash. I go too far, they snap me back into my rightful place." I said the last words with a bitter taste in my mouth.

"SHIELD still does not trust its champions, I see," Thor noted.

I laughed coldly. "I'm not a champion. I'm a rogue individual who's capable of frightening things."

"Are you of Asgard?" Thor asked me bluntly.

Stark choked on his drink. Dr. Banner's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Rogers coughed, and the pair of assassins looked mildly surprised.

"Of Asgard?" I repeated.

Thor nodded. "Your gifts... they are similar to those of other worldly beings, are they not?"

"I wasn't born in Asgard, or to Asgardian parents," I shook my head, a bit thrown off by his questions.

"Niflheim?" Thor guessed.

"The Land of Mist?" I chuckled. "I've got the wind, buddy, not water vapor."

"Yet you know far more of the nine realms that any Midgardian should," Thor frowned.

"I had a big library."

Thor seemed to mull that over in his head. "Your parents have raised you well," he told me with praise in his voice.

Everyone else tensed at that. I looked to the side, shaking my head a little, because I could feel the five cautious glances sent my way.

"We don't really..." Stark started awkwardly.

"Did they die a hero's death?" Thor asked me directly, ignoring Stark. To my surprise, the god actually looked... considerate.

"They were murdered while fighting someone," I replied quietly, a bit thrown off. "They didn't stand a chance. But they fought."

"And you are a warrior as well."

I ducked my head, not wanted to look at anyone in that moment. "I try to be." My voice was barely loud enough to be heard, full of a silent sort of pain that made everything sad.

"Then you have made them proud," Thor said in a warm tone. "In Asgard, their memory would live in through stories and their children."

I let out a bitter laugh. "My parents won't be remembered. They're already gone. Didn't even have much left of the bodies to bury."

"Tis nothing to be ashamed of," the god assured me. "Any warrior would be proud of their parents' legacy."

"Legacy," Barton repeated, and looked curiously at me. "Isn't that what you call the wind? I mean, what you can do to it."

"Yeah," I confirmed. "It's just a term, though. Doesn't mean anything."

"Right," Barton nodded, but he still seemed to think about it.

"How did you know?" I changed topics, and looked to Thor. "About my parents."

"No mother or father would let their child be kept in a tower away from the world, no matter how opulent," Thor gestured behind our group to Avenger Tower. "And you seem too distant to be close to anyone."

Then Rogers mumbled something under his breath.

"Excuse you?" I raised my eyebrows.

Rogers looked up with a sort of embarrassed smile on his face. "I said, 'That's pretty spot on'."

I gasped, placing a hand on my chest. "You wound me, 'Murica. Really. Now I've got the feeling that I should tape copies of the Communist Manifesto all over your room in retaliation."

"I can help," Romanoff raised her hand.

"Oh God it's happening," Stark said in one big rush, staring between me and Romanoff.

"You are pretty cold," Dr. Banner shrugged, siding with Rogers.

"I control the wind," I made a face. "What did you expect? Sunshine and rainbows?"

"We barely know anything about you, and you've been with us for weeks in total," Barton reminded me.

"That's called common sense," I deadpanned. "Anything that I say can and will be held against me."

"I somehow find myself incapable of believing such a fact," Thor interjected.

"Here we go," Barton turned to me. "Age."

"You already know it," I rolled my eyes.

"Where's your house?"

"Classified. I don't need SHIELD storming any buildings, thank you."

"Siblings."

"You want to know if there are others like me."

"Are there?"

"That's sensitive information."

"Favorite season."

"Can be linked back easily to my birth date and birthplace."

"Coke or Pepsi."

"Lets you know what was in higher supply where I was growing up."

"Birthday."

"Gives you a specific time to search for birth records, which would lead you to my family."

"Dogs or cats."

"Dogs. I told you that already."

"STEM classes or liberal arts."

"Gives SHIELD an idea about what my community values more, which narrows down location, and economic, political, and social status."

"Cookies or cream."

"Nice try. You're not poisoning my preferred junk food."

Barton held out his hands at me, looking back to everyone else. "See?"

"It's logical," Romanoff shrugged. "Everything she said was true."

"Russians are the most paranoid people ever," Stark commented. "I've got a business meeting with one in a couple of weeks. I really hope he doesn't act the same way as you two."

"Well," I dusted my hands off on my pants. "This has been an almost lovely evening, but seeing as we're leaving for another world tomorrow, I'm gonna head off to my room."

There was a chorus of "'Night"s as I walked towards the entrance back into the tower, the adults staying where they were. But just as I reached the door, I paused, and looked back at Barton.

"Um..." I closed my eyes, trying to remember why I had stopped. "The... the sleeping pills."

Barton nodded. "Kitchen, medicine cabinet above the stove. White bottle, green cap. Can't miss it."

"Got it. Thanks." I opened the door and headed down via the elevator to the kitchen, which was deserted.

I used a wind to open the cabinet and bring the bottle of sleeping pills down to the counter. Filling a glass up with tap water, I reached for the bottle- and noticed that there was a sticky-note taped to it.

_Gale-_

_Bruce did the math. Double the dosage should be enough for your fast metabolism, at least to get you through most of the night. You're welcome, you pompous little featherweight. Don't O.D._

I couldn't help it. I let out a laugh as I read it. Leave it to Barton to say something like that.

So I opened the bottle, shook out enough pills to work for me, according to Bruce, and swallowed them with the help of the water.

I trudged all the way back up to my room, where I promptly collapsed onto my bed.

"Lights, JARVIS," I muttered.

The lights instantly went out, leaving me in the dark. I could already feel my eyelids starting to close. My bones were feeling earthbound and heavy, and my lungs turned my breath to warm air. It was definitely time to sleep...

"Gale." JARVIS's quiet voice came from the ceiling.

"What..." I groaned, turning over onto my back.

"Mr. Barton would like to know if you are alright."

"Huh?"

"Are the pills working?"

"Uh... yeah."

"Very well. I shall tell him that."

"Tell 'im I say thanks again."

"Of course. Goodnight, Gale."

"'Night."

The room was cold, but I didn't mind. It was comforting, and nice, and I could feel my mind slipping away...

For once, I didn't dream of death.


	21. Seriously? Therapy? I’d rather drink a McDonald’s coffee everyday with Fury for a decade.

I woke up the next morning feeling like I was gonna throw up.

Okay, maybe I didn't wake up like that. It was actually really nice- the sun was coming in through the window, the blankets were warm, and for once, I hadn't woken up screaming in the middle of the night. I don't know what kind of sleeping pills those were, but Dr. Banner deserved a gold medal.

Ah, and then came the 'throwing up' part.

I simply remembered that today, I was going to Asgard.

Yes, that thought alone nearly sent me to the toilet. Thankfully, it never happened. But the anxiety was still there. And my backpack was still on the ground at the foot of my bed, like it was taunting me.

After staring at the ceiling for about half an hour, I forced myself to get out of bed. I walked over to the closet, and just looked down at the boxes of clothing.

I needed to look presentable, but not like I was trying to impress. I needed something that was just plain ol' _nice_. 

I tossed articles of clothing onto the bed behind me, searching for anything suitable. When the boxes were finally empty- more than half of the clothes sitting at the bottom of the closet, and the others on the bed- I turned back to the bed.

"Alright," I cracked my knuckles. "Let's do this."

I sorted out the clothes into tops and bottoms, and then into styles, and then into colors. The last time I had done this... a wave of nostalgia hit me like a truck. I had to take in a deep, shuddering breath.

_"_ _Mama, why are we doing this?" I asked, hopping up on Mama's bed._

_"Because someday, you're going to have to do it to," Mama told me, as her smooth hands folded a green blouse, and placed it on an uncovered section of the bed. Everywhere else had pieces of folded clothing, in every color imaginable._

_"I don't wanna do laundry," I pouted. "It's boring."_

_"Gale," Mama looked up at me. "Life is boring. If you don't like it like that, then make it exciting."_

_"Like... this?" I smiled mischievously, holding out a hand towards the black skirt Mama was holding now._

_The skirt flew into the air, above our heads. "Gale," Mama sighed, but I didn't listen. Instead, I made the wind grab the green blouse, and set it on top of the skirt._

_"This isn't so boring now," I giggled, making the skirt and blouse dance around the room._

_"Well," Mama put her hands on her hips. "You took things out of order. Can you put them back into place?"_

_I frowned, and raised both of my hands. The clothes stopped dancing. Carefully, as if I were weaving with the tips of my fingers, I pulled at the different wind-threads, and made the skirt and blouse separate. They floated downwards slowly, and with a careful flick of one hand, the skirt folded itself in half. Concentrating, I turned my attention to the blouse, but the moment that I did, the skirt fell to the bed._

_I let out a hmph, letting the blouse follow the skirt. "What was that for?" Mama frowned._

_"I can't do it," I groaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically._

_"No, you can," Mama said. "You're just not used to using your legacy to way it's usually used. The wind isn't a scalpel, it's a wave. It was never meant to be precise."_

_"Can't you burn the clothes to ashes?" I asked her seriously. "Then we would be done."_

_"Gale," Mama gestured to the air beside her. "Come over here."_

_I did as she asked, trotting to Mama's side. She picked up the next piece of clothing from the basket beside her- a navy blue button-up._

_"Now," Mama started, holding it in front of us. "Blue is the color of loyalty, intelligence, creativity, and trust. And it goes well with other cool colors- grey, black, purple. So where would I put this?"_

_I surveyed the bed, looking over the grid of fabric. "There." I pointed to a section of blouses that were all dark in color. Mama quickly folded the button-up and placed it where I pointed._

_"See, first impressions aren't everything, but they alter a person's perception of you," Mama told me. "Tonight, we're going to a meeting of the Council members and their families. So, seeing as this is the first time you are going to meet many powerful people... you need to know how to put on a good outwards appearance."_

_"It sounds boring," I sighed with all my seven year-old body._

_"Gale," Mama said in warning tone. "What did I say about life being boring?"_

_"I should make it exciting," I repeated her words._

_Mama smiled at me. "Exactly. So, seeing as we need to know how certain outfits look... and we're both being judges... we need a helper. Why don't you go get Papa for us?"_

_I giggled, giving Mama a salute. "Yes, Mama!" I dashed off out of the room, Mama's laughter trailing behind me..._

"Gale?"

I blinked, my mind coming back to where I was in the real world.

"Gale, are you alright?" 

I finally realized that it was JARVIS's voice, coming from the ceiling, that had interrupted me in the first place.

"Uh, yeah?" I pulled my head together and replied to JARVIS's inquiry.

"Are you alright?" JARVIS repeated.

"Yeah," I nodded, taking a breath. "I'm fine."

"You were standing still for several minutes," JARVIS told me. "Your heart rate increased. And you appear to be crying."

"What?" I said, startled. I lifted a hand up to my cheek... and it was wet. "Jeez."

"Do you require assistance?"

"Uh, no," I shook my head, pulling the top of my shirt up to wipe my face dry. "I'm good."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, JARVIS," I rolled my eyes. "I'm perfectly alright. I was just sweating out of my eyes."

"I do not believe that is an actual medical possibility-"

"Goodbye, JARVIS."

"Very well, then."

I sighed in relief. Finally. I don't know who could've programmed JARVIS to be after me for every little thing that I did, but whoever it was, they're getting a silly-stringed bedroom as soon as I find out.

I turned back to my bed, where all the clothes were lying. Okay... Asgard. They're gonna be wearing armor and fancy stuff. So nothing too modern or shabby.

Probably a button-up or a blouse... I took the other kinds of shirts and tossed them back into the closet. And color-wise... I don't want to stand out. Something neutral... I smiled as I picked up a grey blouse with long sleeves, no frills or anything silly.

And... dark blue jeans, a pair that was loose enough to move around comfortably in. Perfect.

First appearances were really important, afterall. It was the line between people listening to you, and people ignoring you. And seeing as I was the first of my people to go to Asgard, I really needed people to listen to me.

I took a quick shower, and then changed into the blouse and jeans. Shoes... I grabbed a pair of brown boots, the kind with laces. Comfy. Sturdy. They'd do.

I brushed out my hair, working out all of the tangles. And then I noticed just how long it was- it easily reached down to my waist, and was approaching my hips. I'd have to tie it up. So I deftly braided two strands of hair back from my temples, and swept those and the rest of my hair back up into a simple bun. Neat and simple.

"JARVIS, what time is it?" I asked out loud, as I grabbed my backpack.

"It is currently eight in the morning, Gale."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

I gave my room one last look over, and then went out into the hall. I took the elevator down to the communal floor, and headed to the kitchen. Dr. Banner was already there, making a pot of coffee.

I dropped my backpack on the ground near the table, and went over to grab a mug from the cabinet.

"Morning," Dr. Banner greeted me.

"Okay, I don't know what was in those sleeping pills," I looked at the man. "But I don't care, and where can I buy them in bulk?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, Clint thought those would help."

"It was Barton's idea?" I frowned, taking a loaf of French bread from the pantry. I grabbed a bread knife, and began cutting it into thick slices.

"Well, after your nightmare..." Dr. Banner trailed off.

"Ah," I nodded, looking down. "That was... anyway, thanks. For the pills. I can't remember the last time I've slept more than seven hours without dreaming."

"You know," Dr. Banner started. "There might be a way to get rid of them. The nightmares, I mean."

"I highly doubt it," I shook my head, going over to the fridge, and pulling out slices of meat and cheese. "But hey, I'm all ears."

"SHIELD has access to the world's best intellectuals in every field. I'm sure that there's a therapist-"

"Therapy?" I stopped mid-step and raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Steve was right, you know," Dr. Banner told me. "Everything that you've shown... it seems like a more extreme form of PTSD."

"Again, with the PTSD," I groaned. "Look, I don't want to talk to some shrink who's gonna build a profile on me and then use it against me."

"Not everyone in the world is a bad person-" Dr. Banner defended.

"But enough people are," I said in a icy tone. "How much do you think SHIELD knows about you, doctor? How thick is your file? How many weaknesses, failures, and pressure points do you think they've gathered? Because I'll tell you right now, there are more than they've told you."

Dr. Banner was silent for a moment. "I've hurt a lot of people. I think they've got a right to know that kind of information."

"Right," I scoffed. "They gather it so they can _help_ you. Sure, go ahead, trade your freedom for a gold-lined cage if that works for you."

"Why are you so opposed to SHIELD?" Dr. Banner looked at me, almost accusingly. 

"Because when people know about _you_ , it's safer for them," I hissed, blood running cold. "Why do you think I've never told you people anything important? Because if I let anything slip, you'll try to _help_ me."

"Why is that a bad thing?" Dr. Banner frowned.

"Because you're the _heroes_ ," I spat out the word like it was poison. "You help people, and make their lives better, and in the end everyone's smiling and having a good time. If you try to help _me_ , and you will because you're a _hero_ , I will be the _end_ of you. Don't you get it? There is no situation where I am the good guy. I was born to be the antagonist to the _heroes_. And I will never be anything except for that. So stop trying to _help_ me like I'm one of the people that deserves saving."

Dr. Banner stared at me. I glared back.

"I take it this is one of those 'awkward situations' I hear so much about." A new voice came from the entrance to the kitchen.

Both of us looked over, and saw Romanoff standing there, dressed in black jeans and a red hoodie. She was just watching the two of us with a slightly amused expression.

"Gale here is under the impression that talking to people will be the 'end' of them," Dr. Banner gestured to me.

I sighed heavily, filled my mug up with coffee, and grabbed a plate full of bread, meat and cheese.

"Well, good for her, because that's pretty much the truth of things," Romanoff said frankly, sitting at the head of the kitchen table. 

I walked over to the table and sat down directly on the woman's left. "I'm gonna be over here, on the common sense side of the table. Dr. Banner, your seat is at the other end."

"Really, Tasha?" Dr. Banner looked at Romanoff. "You're siding with her?"

"Hey, the more people know about me, the higher risk they're at," Romanoff shrugged. "I take it's the same with you, Gale."

"Truer words, Romanoff, truer words," I shook my head. "Bread?"

"Don't mind if I do," Romanoff took a piece of bread and slapped some meat and cheese on it. I did the same. Dr. Banner just stared.

" _So,"_ Romanoff started, speaking in Russian. " _You ready to see Asgard?"_

 _"Honestly?_ " I shrugged. _"I feel like I just have to get it over with. Like if I actually think about it I'm gonna throw up_."

Romanoff nodded. " _Yeah, Clint seemed excited too. It took me three hours to get the glitter arrows away from him_."

" _Glitter arrows?_ " I raised my eyebrows. " _I better watch my back._ "

She chuckled. " _They're not too bad, but it takes forever to get that stuff out of your hair_."

" _Also,_ " I swallowed a bite of my breakfast. " _Why are we talking in Russian? Are we supposed to be hiding something from Dr. Banner?_ "

Romanoff gave me a careful look. _"It's more... comforting, I know, to speak in your native language. Besides, I figured you might wanna dust off your Russian_."

" _True_ ," I nodded. " _But seriously- why are we talking in a language that only we can understand completely?_ "

Romanoff set her breakfast down, looking like she was thinking hard about something unsavory. _"Gale, were you ever... in a place called the Red Room?_ "

I immediately stiffened, knuckles turning white with tension. Surprise and a sort of heavy understanding flickered in Romanoff's eyes.

" _How do you know about that?_ " I asked, my voice tense.

" _Gale-"_

 _"Don't lie,_ " I told her, sucking in a deep breath. " _Are you one of them? It would make sense. The way you fight- God, you're one of them-"_

I stood up from my seat, about to leave, when Romanoff grabbed my arm. 

I couldn't help it. Silver marks appeared abruptly on my skin, writhing like snakes around my arms and my neck. The air in the kitchen began to move.

" _I"m not, I swear I'm not_ ," Romanoff said hurriedly. " _I'm not one of them._ "

I froze, not knowing what to do.

"Tasha? Gale?" Dr. Banner spoke up, worried, from the other end of the table.

" _Come on_ ," Romanoff muttered, standing up as well. She walked into the main room, myself in tow, leaving a confused doctor behind.

We walked over to the side of the room that was just glass, looking out over the city. There, Romanoff turned to face me.

" _Look, I don't know why I didn't pick up on it sooner,_ " Romanoff said.

" _How did you know?_ " I asked her bluntly, refusing to show weakness. The silver marks were still on my skin, but they weren't shifting so violently now.

" _You're Russian, intelligent, gifted, your parents are out of the equation, and you don't like talking about your past,_ " Romanoff said quietly. " _It adds up_."

I crossed my arms, not meeting her gaze.

" _Look, I get it-"_

 _"What do you know about it?_ " I interrupted her.

Romanoff took in another breath. " _I was... recruited, at a young age. Spent some time there, graduated, got on SHIELD's radar, and then Clint brought me in. Nothing much else to it."_

I let out a steady breath from my nose, closing my eyes. " _So you weren't one of them."_

_"No. I take it... something similar happened to you."_

I finally looked up at Romanoff. For the first time since I had met her, all the way back when I woke up on the Helicarrier, she actually looked... not like she wanted to kill you. I wouldn't say considerate, not by a long shot, but more... understanding.

" _I had just turned eight_ ," I said, not really believing that I was telling someone about this. " _Playing in the park, a bit away from my parents. They couldn't see me. Then I noticed a couple of women dragging a girl into a van, near the street. I ran over, tried to use my powers to help. I think I might've killed one of them. But I got too close to the other. N_ _ext thing I know, I wake up handcuffed to a bed, and some woman is telling me how I'm gonna learn to be unbreakable. Like marble."_

" _How long were you there?"_

_"A month or two. Wasn't too long, but it was enough. Apparently having a spy with superpowers was just too good of a chance to pass on. My parents came for me, with my uncle. The place where I was, it was small, like an in-between place, just for... breaking the girls in. I got away, and so did everyone else in the room where they let us sleep. Handcuffed to the bed, of course. I don't know what happened to the women running the place, but I knew that Papa's hands were red when he came into the room."_

I gave Romanoff a long, weary look. " _And now you're gonna tell Fury about that, aren't you?"_

Romanoff frowned. " _Why would I?_ "

That threw me off guard. I blinked, confused. " _What?_ "

She gave me a wry smile, one with little humor. _"Why would I tell Fury? Afterall, we've been speaking in Russian the entire time. I thought we were talking about the weather. What do you think we chatted about?_ "

I don't think I'd ever been more startled in my life. " _You're kidding me._ "

" _I'm not,_ " Romanoff told me seriously. " _And honestly- you're not too bad. It explains a lot, actually. What you've been through, that is._ "

" _Oh._ " I said, not bothering to keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Hey, Nat!" Someone called out.

Romanoff and I both looked over at the figure of Barton, who was trotting out from the elevator.

" _What?_ " We both asked in Russian.

"Uh..." Barton paused, coming up to us. He was dressed casually, in a dark purple shirt and jeans, with a bag over his shoulder.

"What do you want, Birdbrain?" I sighed, reverting back to English.

"Well, I was gonna ask Nat where she hid my glitter arrows," Barton started. "But you two look like you were talking about something important... and your skin still has those silver glowy-thingies... and now I'm kinda scared."

I shrugged, already putting up my normal demeanor. "That's smart. Knowing Romanoff, she's probably got three knives on her right now." 

I gave the red-headed woman a careful look. "Make that four."

"Anyway," Barton slung the black duffel bag off of his shoulder. "I'm ready to go. Where're the others?"

"Dr. Banner is in the kitchen," I told him stiffly. "Assuming he hasn't gone to sign me up for therapy sessions."

Barton stared at me warily. "I take it something happened."

I snorted. Romanoff faced her partner. "They had an argument about SHIELD and how Bruce thinks she could use some talking to a psychiatrist."

"I'm perfectly normal," I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Why do people keep assuming that I'm some fragile child that'll break under an ounce of pressure?"

"Probably 'cause you look like it," Barton shrugged.

I raised my eyebrows, and willed my eyes to turn completely silver. "How 'bout now?"

"Don't test her, Clint," Romanoff warned the man with a chuckle.

"Jesus, I know," Barton defended. "That's creepy, by the way, Gale. You should be in a haunted house."

"I'd give people a heart attack if I really tried to be scary. So it's probably not such a good idea."

Romanoff gave Barton a meaningful look. "I'd lay off the banter for now. It'd be unfortunate if this ceasefire between Gale and the rest of us were to break."

With that, Romanoff silently padded back into the kitchen, not before shooting me a very tiny smile over her shoulder.

Barton slowly turned to face me, mouth hanging slightly open. "What the heck did you tell her?"

"What?"

"Nat never smiles. _Never_. Unless she's on a mission, or she's with people who she trusts. The number of who, by the way, I can count on one hand."

"Oh." I looked down, briefly. "We were just talking about Russia."

"Really?" Barton raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Just about Russia."

"Believe it or not, there are things you're not entitled to know," I shook my head at him.

"Fine, fine," Barton held up his hands in defense. "Okay, then. Why're you dressed fancy?"

I looked down at my clothes again in slight surprise at his question. "Oh- yeah, I guess I am. We _are_ going to Asgard, afterall. I don't want to look shabby."

"Suit yourself," Barton shrugged. "Anyway, I'm gonna go get breakfast. Want me to leave the coffee pot on?"

"Already ate," I waved a hand dismissively.

Barton nodded, grabbed his duffel bag, and then turned heel to walk towards the kitchen, where I could see Romanoff sitting at the table.

Sighing, I looked back out over the city. Hm... I noticed that it was a bit cool in here... but I couldn't hear the air conditioning...

With a shock, I realized that the silver wind-marks still stained my skin. They weren't moving anymore, and weren't glowing as brightly, but they were still there. 

That shouldn't be possible... even if I was near to full strength. But maybe I was just recovering quicker than I thought.

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. With a small effort, I coaxed the marks to fade back into my skin, disappearing from view. 

"Gale!" Someone shouted from the kitchen.

"What?" I replied, clearly irritated.

"Get in here, Juvie," Stark's voice issued.

"Great," I groaned as I made my way back into the kitchen. "Just when I think today's gonna be a good day."

Inside, I found that everybody was seated around the table. Rogers, Thor, and Stark must've entered through the other door, when I was focusing on my wind-marks.

"Gale-" Dr. Banner started, looking up at me.

"Think about what you're going to say, then don't." I told him coldly without meeting his gaze.

"Oh," Stark said. "Shiz went down, obviously. I'm betting it involved SHIELD."

"Tony," Steve warned him. 

"What? They're annoying."

"That's not the point."

"Says America's Golden Boy."

I loudly cleared my throat, drawing attention back to me. "So why am I here?"

"We are discussing our departure," Thor told me. "Are you prepared for the journey, Maiden Gale?"

"First of all, yes, and second of all, it's just Gale," I corrected him. "When are we leaving?"

"Well, as soon as everybody gets their bags and heads out to the landing pad," Stark answered. "I hope you packed, Juvie."

"Of course I did," I gave Stark a weird look. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You like doing the exact opposite of what people ask you to do," Stark said bluntly.

"Tony," everyone in the room groaned, save for Thor, who just looked confused.

"He does have a point," I admitted. "I believe I have what adults call 'authority issues'."

"So Gale," Romanoff turned to me. "Bruce told us he thinks you should get some help with your PTSD."

My face hardened. "Look, whatever you all think is wrong with me-"

"I told him there's an easier alternative," Romanoff casually leaned back in her seat.

"I'm listening," I looked at her with newfound interest.

" _Apparently talking to people is supposed to help with psychological issues_ ," the woman said in Russian. " _So as long you're talking, technically, it doesn't matter to who._ "

" _You're offering?_ " I said, surprised.

" _I could use a spar buddy. Besides, Barton complains to much to be any fun. You'll at least suck it up like an adult._ "

" _Why, I think this is the start to a wonderful relationship_ ," I grinned at her.

"I'm going to assume I know what they're saying," Stark interrupted. "And redirect this conversation to getting our butts outta the door so we can see Thor's magical golden palace."

"Already there," I grabbed my backpack from where I had left it by the table, and sauntered out of the kitchen. "Hurry up, people, before I find a southern wind to speed up your pace."

Barton rushed out of the kitchen from behind me, followed by Stark, who were both reaching up to cover their eyebrows. "I'm going! I'm going!" Barton called out as he speed-walked past me.

"Hurry up, losers," I called loudly. "We're going to Asgard!"


	22. Of silence and snow he came, riding on the hunting winds

Ten minutes later, the seven of us were standing on the landing pad, holding our respective bags (or hammer, in Thor's case) and looking around aimlessly. I blinked in the morning sunlight, a crisp breeze flowing through the air.

"So... I don't a jet or anything, or a magical portal," Stark started.

"Idiot," I rolled my eyes. "We're using the Bifrost. Duh."

"That's... correct," Thor gave me a surprised look, along with the other adults.

"I read," I defended myself.

"Anyway..." Barton trailed off, looking at Thor.

The god tilted his head upwards. "Heimdall!" He boomed.

The sky began to darken overhead. The wind picked up, and I could feel a charge riding on it- magic, it had to be. Pure Asgardian magic.

A funnel appeared in the clouds, reaching down from the sky towards us. A swirling tangle of multi-colored lights appeared, and just as Stark's mouth formed the beginnings of a very creative curse, it raced down and crashed into the landing pad.

For a minute, I thought I was blind. I couldn't see anything. But then the blankness turned into clean white, which separated into crackling lights of every color.

I laughed in glee as I felt my body soaring upward, as fast as a bullet. Beyond the tunnel of rainbow lights, I could see empty space, and planets, and galaxies. It took everything to not reach out past the light and touch the stars.

And then I felt the tiniest bit of resistance around me, as if the air were slowing down. It felt just like whenever I slowed down to land after a flight...

I had a second to prepare before my momentum switched from upwards to carrying me forward, and I suddenly popped out onto solid ground.

Lucky for me, this wasn't the first time I've had to hit the floor hard. My knees were already bent slightly, so the impact was absorbed from my ankles up through my legs. I took a few steps forward to slow myself down, one hand still gripping my backpack strap.

"Oh," Barton groaned from behind me. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

But I didn't even have a sarcastic remark to send at him, because I had just realized where we were.

I was in a spherical room that seemed to be composed of gold. Designs of wheels and things that looked like clocks or gears adorned the sides. Turning around in a slow circle, I saw that we'd come out of a sort of circular window, where I could see the Bifrost glittering apprehensively.

"My Prince, it is good to see you well," someone said.

I looked to my left, and saw a dark-skinned man clad in gold armor standing in the center of the room. He was near a raised pedestal, where a sword was resting point down like a key on the top.

"Heimdall, you look well," Thor smiled and clasped hands with the man.

"Your friends do not look... accustomed to the effects of the Bifrost," Heimdall observed, giving the remaining adults a curious glance with his amber eyes.

Rogers and Barton were half-leaning against each other. Stark was holding his stomach, Dr. Banner was taking several deep breaths and looked pale, and even Romanoff was a little green.

"It was like flying," I chuckled in a low voice. "Beats me why Stark's not looking too good. Maybe it's because he's got a suit, and I was just born like this."

The pair of gods turned to me, and when they saw me grinning happily, surprise crossed their faces.

"I was not expecting a sixth visitor," Heimdall told me with a slight frown.

"Gale is a warrior child- apprentice," Thor hastily corrected himself. "She is staying with the Midgardian heroes. Eye of Hawks believed it would be better if she joined them instead of being left for their organization of SHIELD to deal with. I decided to extend the invitation to her."

"Gale," Heimdall repeated, looking at me.

I stepped forward towards him, noting the quite obvious height difference between us. Dipping my head in a respectful nod, I spoke. "It is an honor to meet you, Gatekeeper of Asgard."

Heimdall let out a booming laugh. "This one has manners. Fair decision, Prince."

Thor smiled down at me, but I could see he was a bit confused still. "You know much more of our people than I would think a Midgardian would."

"My parents, and their parents before them, and theirs before them and on for generations, studied the Old Norse and the Nine Realms," I answered politely, clasping my hands in front of me. "Our library is... quite extensive."

"Leave it to Juvie to be all nice to the super-powerful beings," Stark muttered, having gotten a hold of his shaking legs.

"I'm just displaying the proper manners," I smirked at the billionaire. "Afterall, we're in Asgard, not Midgard."

"Already using their lingo," Barton noted, voice tense. "Anybody got a baggie?"

"Your father awaits you in the Great Hall," Heimdall spoke to Thor, who nodded in understanding.

"Wait- Great Hall?" Rogers joined in. "We're not going to have to make speeches, are we?"

"Just introductions," Thor shook his head. "My father is interested in meeting those who saved Midgard from the Chitauri."

"Let's go, then," Romanoff took a few steps towards the circular exit, where a literal rainbow bridge extended over a plane of churning waters.

I readjusted my backpack, and followed Romanoff.

Ahead of us, at the end of the bridge, was Asgard. A shining expanse of gold and metal, with towering houses and sculptures and great stone statures of warriors. The sky overhead was as blue as the wings of a jay, with clouds spun from silver. A perfect day.

In the center of the city was the palace. It looked like organ pipes, tallest in the middle and then slowly shrinking towards the sides. I could see small flying skiffs buzzing around the palace like birds.

"Somebody pinch me, I think I'm dreaming," I said in awe, stopping in my tracks.

Then somebody actually pinched my shoulder. Hard. 

"Barton, I'm sure that there are plenty of southern winds around here," I said with a sickeningly sweet tone. "And that they're all very magical."

"Jesus, you asked for it," Barton quickly spoke up.

"Follow me, Midgardians," Heimdall said as he walked towards a skiff that was waiting on the side of the bridge.

"How do these things operate?" Stark asked the general public, hustling over to the skiff and running his hands over the sides of it. "Pneumatic? Hydraulic? Electric?"

"Magic," I rolled my eyes. "We're in Asgard, stupid."

I deftly hopped into the skiff, moving to the very front in order to get the best view. The others entered the skiff and squished together to make enough room for the two gods. Heimdall took the rudder in the back, and Thor stood next to him.

Carefully, the skiff began rise into the air, gaining altitude rapidly. Rogers stumbled next to me, and I sighed but gave him a little nudge to help him regain his balance.

"Thanks," the soldier nodded at me.

"No prob," I absentmindedly replied, looking out at the sky as we soared through the air.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Rogers give me a look. 

"If you've got something to say, then say it," I told him, not turning my head.

"You're... comfortable here."

"What tipped you off? The formal greeting? The fact that I didn't have the urge to puke once we got out of the Bifrost?"

Rogers shook his head with a small and confused smile. "The way you look at things. You're just... happy. Or close to it. I don't think any of us have actually seen you truly happy before."

"Well," Barton chimed in from my left. "You looked like a little kid in a candy shop when you were talking about those ley lines or whatever."

"Ley lines?" Rogers asked.

"Multi-dimensional tracks of inherent magical energy embedded in the earth," Barton and I replied in unison.

I gave Barton a weird look. "Hey, I was listening when you ranted on about them for at least an hour," Barton chuckled.

"Okay," I cut his sentence short. "In any case- ley lines help me use my legacy, right? Asgard- Asgard is like if you piled every ley line in Midgard on top of each other, and then put an already magical realm smack dab in the middle of it."

Both men raised their eyebrows. I nodded, grinning. "Yeah. Last night, when I did the hovering trick... a couple of days here, and that's gonna look like parlor magic. I'll be flying in no time."

"Flying?" Heimdall spoke up from the back of the skiff. "You possess that ability?"

"Winds," I called back to him. "That's my thing. North, south, east, west. They're pretty multi-useful."

"I don't think that's a word," Dr. Banner frowned.

"Whatever," I shrugged. "Maybe not to a SHIELD approved scientist."

"Gale," Dr. Banner started.

"Please don't," I said in a calm tone. "I'd like to enjoy this trip before I get thrown back into a cage."

Cue the awkward silence.

Heimdall cleared his throat. "The Allfather, the queen, and several members of the court will be present in the hall. I do hope you Midgardians are not... intimidated easily."

"You really don't know anything about us, do you?" Romanoff shook her head with a smirk.

"I do know that you are interesting people," Heimdall admitted. "And that your sense of fashion is somewhat lacking."

I let out a very undignified snort, followed by a bout of muffled giggles. "Heimdall, sir, you've become my second favorite Asgardian."

"I am deeply honored, Maiden Gale," Heimdall cracked a playful grin and gave me a nod.

"Thor," I turned to the other god. "Can I just stay here? I can even be a stable boy or some demeaning thing. Just let me be here away from all the stupid humans."

The adults in the skiff all laughed, including Stark and Dr. Banner.

"Watch your footing," Heimdall suddenly warned us. I turned back around to the front, and realized with a jolt that we were already up to the palace.

An opening in the palace walls grew closer and closer, and I noticed that it was a landing pad of sorts. Heimdall maneuvered the skiff towards the opening, and we smoothly approached the pad. The skiff slowed to a stop, a few feet above the golden floor.

There were a few pairs of guard standing post nearby, clad in armor and clutching tall spears that were probably just ceremonial. Looking around at the inert skiffs parked neatly on the sides, I jumped out of the skiff, landing smoothly.

"If you'll follow me," Heimdall said in his low voice, leading the other adults through the room.

He lead us through a set of doors and into a large hallway, the stone pillars climbing high up before meeting the painted ceiling. I could see more guards standing by sets of doors, and I chuckled quietly to myself as I realized that the Asgardians were putting on a show for us.

And at the very end of the hallway, there were two doors that were five times my size, easily. They were gold and bronze and brass, with the intricate depiction of a giant tree stretching from top to bottom.

As we approached them, the doors swung open silently. Stark was practically drooling as he tried to spot the hinges and mechanisms of the doors.

My eyes were the size of saucers when I saw the hall.

It stretched on and on, with marble floors that had curling designs and runes etched into them. Glittering balls of light hung from the ceiling, shining brightly. At the very end, a throne sat, wider than it was tall. It had two prongs reaching out from each side, and a low seat.

The king was seated there.

Odin was dressed in shining armor, with a golden eyepatch. He was holding a long spear, one that I could feel energy rolling off of through the air. God, it was like all of my senses were on overdrive in this place.

A line of royal guards stood along the edges of the sides of the room. Several men and women dressed in rich fabrics formed clusters further down the hall, whispering among themselves as they looked at us.

Heimdall strode confidently through the open hall, towards the king. Thor followed second, and I let the other adults get ahead of me before I began walking.

As we walked down the hall, I could feel the silence weighing on my shoulders. A ball of nervousness formed deep in my gut. We stopped just in front of the throne, which was raised upwards, making me feel even smaller. Heimdall took his place on the king's right side.

Us humans just stood there, waiting for... something. The various Asgardian onlookers kept whispering, and I even saw a few pointed gestures towards Rogers, who was looking a mite bit uncomfortable, seeing as he was the tallest and the muscle-iest.

Then Odin raised his free hand, and absolute silence fell over the hall.

"Father," Thor nodded to Odin.

"My son," Odin spoke in a gravelly voice. "Your return has been much anticipated."

"My fellow heroes have also been anticipating their visit to our realm," Thor said with a small grin.

"Then let them introduce themselves, or must they have you speak for them?" Odin leaned forward a tiny bit, still appearing very imposing.

"Uh," Stark said as Barton gave him a tiny push. "Tony Stark. Iron Man."

"Steve Rogers," Rogers spoke up. "Captain America."

"I'm Hawk-Barton," Barton took a tiny step forward. "I mean, Clint-eye. I mean-"

"He's Clint Barton, known also as Hawkeye," Romanoff smoothly stepped in. "I'm the Black Widow."

"Dr. Bruce Banner," Dr. Banner said as soon as he realized it was his turn.

"I already am familiar with your groups' deeds in Midgard," Odin replied. "Prince Thor speaks often of your bravery."

"He does?" Stark raised his eyebrows. Everybody stared at him for just blurting out. "I- sorry, I guess. Please don't execute me."

The Asgardians were giving us even weirder looks.

"However," Odin broke through the quiet once more. "I was not alerted of the child."

The members of the Avengers, minus Thor, suddenly remembered that I, in fact, was there. Well, in all fairness, I was in the back. But the adults split down the middle, giving me a clear view of the throne and the not-looking-too-pleased king sitting there.

Taking a breath, I silently cursed the adults for leaving me here with that kind of a introduction.

I deftly stepped forward, ahead of everyone else, and bowed my head in respect to the king.

"My apologies, Odin Allfather, for not announcing my unexpected presence," I said smoothly, straightening my head again and looking Odin in the eye. "I am Gale, of Midgard. It is a true honor to meet you, your majesty, Watcher of the Nine Realms."

The Asgardians on the sidelines began whispering again. Odin looked mildly surprised.

"Maiden Gale is more more... knowledgeable... of our people than the average Midgardian," Thor told his father.

"How did you come by these heroes' acquaintance?" Odin asked me directly, his eye narrowing.

"I have..." I paused, searching for the words. "Certain gifts. On Midgard, people such as I are viewed as dangerous, and therefore the organization which ties the Avengers together sought to find me. I have been staying at Stark's residence for the past several weeks. I was not expecting an invitation, nor did I seek one out. Your son offered after a suggestion of Barton's, and I accepted."

Odin stared at me, and I could feel the Avengers around me begin to move slightly away from me. Tch. Weaklings.

"Your gifts," Odin said. "What are they?"

Well, it's not like I wasn't expecting that. 

I took a breath, and held out my arms, palms up. Reaching out with my mind, I grabbed onto the closest winds towards me. The one thing I didn't expect to happen though, was how much they reacted.

Instantly, the silver marks reappeared on my skin, glowing and writhing with newfound intensity. The air around my body whipped into circles, phasing in and out of visibility. Tendrils of lithe silver crawled along the floor around my feet. I fought to control it for a moment, to reel in the intensity of my legacy.

"As I told Heimdall," I said, and I could feel my voice merging with the hiss of the air. "Winds are my gift."

The guards and the bystanders let out slightly audible gasps and noises of surprise. Odin peered closer at me. "Impressive, for a child of your age and stature," he replied coolly.

Barton muffled a laugh, and lightly nudged Romanoff with his elbow. She glared at him and muttered a retort.

"Thank you, Allfather," I said, biting my tongue when he called me a 'child' for the second time. I forced the winds around me to calm down, and somehow managed to get the marks to sink back under my skin. 

But this time, it was harder. Like trying to hold a beach ball underwater in a pool- it always tries to resurface. For some reason, my body didn't want to revert back to normal.

"And now that introductions are said and done," Odin spoke as he stood up from his throne. "I would like a word with my son. The guards may show our guests to their temporary quarters."

"Father-" Thor began, frowning ever so slightly.

"Now." Odin said to his son, firmly.

A pair of guards came forward as Odin walked out of the hall via a back door, followed by Thor. The Asgardian spectators broke up into groups, talking quietly among themselves, with the occasional glance towards me.

"Honored guests," one of the guards said as they both bowed before us. "Please follow us."

"Okay, then," Romanoff said in a miffed tone of voice. They began walking back towards the big doors that we came in through, our group of six trailing behind.

"Is it just me or does Odin seem a little ticked about our arrival?" Barton muttered over my head at his partner.

"It probably doesn't help that I came along," I added quietly.

"Speaking of which," Romanoff looked down at me, calculatingly. "What was that show back there?"

We came out into another grand hall, the guards' armor clicking together with every step they took. Barton and Romanoff dropped a bit behind the rest, and I did the same.

"Trust me, I wasn't trying to do something like that," I said in a low tone. "Ever since we came out of the Bifrost... it's like my blood's on fire. Or ice. I can't tell. All I know is that this place is doing something to me."

"How bad are we talking?" Barton asked.

I thought it over. "It's not exactly hurting me, per say. More like- like amplifying everything I try to do. Making it easier to use my legacy. Back there... it shouldn't be an effort to temper down the winds. And it the wind-marks shouldn't have fought me when I forced them down, and they shouldn't be fighting to come back..." 

I rubbed my forearms, deep in thought. "But this means that I'll be getting more powerful. Closer to full strength. All I have to do is pay a bit more attention to how and when I use my legacy."

"You're the expert," Barton muttered.

"Obviously," I snorted. "What in the nine realms were you thinking back there? 'I'm Hawk-Barton. I mean- Clint-eye'. Seriously, dude."

"She's got a point," Romanoff shrugged. "You could bear to be more eloquent."

"What, like Gale?" Barton scoffed. "All 'It is an honor to meet you, your Majesty'." He made an exaggerated bow.

"Well, I seem to have made at least an adequate first impression," I sniffed. "More than I can say for you."

"Hey!" Barton cried, his voice ringing out in the open space.

"Shut up, you dimwit," Romanoff hissed at him. "Act like your age for once."

"Eye of Hawks," one of the guards suddenly appeared in front of us. "This way."

"What?" Barton said. 

"The men's quarters are this way," the guard continued, gesturing down a side hall where Stark, Rogers, and Dr. Banner were standing. "Unless you would like a shared room..." he glanced at Romanoff uncertainly.

"Go before I shoot you," Romanoff told Barton. He scurried off towards the other guys, the guard leading them down the side hall.

"Follow me," the remaining guard said aloofly, and headed down the opposite end of the corridor. Romanoff and I began to follow him at our own pace.

The corridor was small, and not a single other person was in sight. The floor shone beneath my feet, and I could even see my own reflection staring back up at me.

"Your quarters," the guard announced as we reached the end of the hallway. Two doors stood on either side, slightly sunken into the golden walls.

"I call lefties," I said as I moved to the door on the left.

"If you require assistance, I shall be positioned at the other end of the corridor," the guard gave me and Romanoff a small but formal nod, and walked back in the direction that we came from.

I raised my eyebrows back at Romanoff. "You heard the man."

She shrugged. "I get the feeling Odin doesn't trust his visitors."

"What makes you say that?" I frowned, turning to face her completely.

"We're at the very end of this hallway," Romanoff replied. "One way to run."

"Easier to defend. Harder to escape. I see what you mean," I said, readjusting my backpack strap on my shoulder. "Well, time to see if the Asgard Bed and Breakfast gets a good Yelp review."

With that, I pushed open the ornate door, leaving Romanoff to herself.

Well, they certainly didn't send us to a dungeon.

The room was easily twice the size of my living space in Avenger Tower. The floor was some sort of polished stone, which had patterns and foreign writing looping around in trails of gold. The ceiling was the same as the walls- more gold, or at least some material that looked just like it.

There was a wooden table in the middle of the circular space, with a pair of matching chairs. A bowl of fruit sat on top as the only decoration. Across from that, on my right, part of the wall broke away to form a balcony with a railing of silver and gold hammered into the shape of tree branches. I could see the blue sky from there, and far away, the glittering Bifrost leading out of the city.

Dropping my backpack on the table, I looked around, trying to see everything all at once. I noticed a smaller door at the end, so I headed towards it.

Through that way, I found a small antechamber- this one with a four-poster bed and white sheets. The bed frame was ash wood, and it seemed to be growing straight up from the floor to the posts, forming an almost boat-looking contraption with the sides nonexistent. Apparently sleeping in trees was fashionable in Asgard.

There was a second, tiny room off of the bed chamber that had what passed for a toilet and a sink. Decent enough.

"Okay, Gale," I told myself, walking back out to the main room. "Now we're in Asgard. So... what do we do now?"

The room was silent.

I wandered out to the balcony, and looked out over the city. From up here, you could barely even see the people walking down below. A breeze rippled gently through the air, bringing a faint smile to my lips.

Then I felt a buzz underneath my skin. Frowning, I looked down at my hands. 

The silver marks were pushing their way upwards again. I fought with them for a moment, getting them to quiet down, but they were... insistent.

Sighing, I relented, and let them surface. But instead of behaving like usual, appearing all over my skin in swirls and curls, the silver trickled to the curve of my palm and settled there, like a pool of moonlight.

"Seriously?" I rolled my eyes. "Just cooperate for once."

Instead, the silver puddle in each hand sent out tendrils that wound around my fingers, and up and around the back of my hand. It almost looked like a simpler version of... what were those things called... henna tattoos? Great. Now I had glowing silver doodles on my hands.

The wind picked up slightly. I could feel it moving in an odd direction... towards the door.

Well, it's not like I had anything better to do.

Shrugging, I walked over to the door and exited into the golden hallway. Romanoff must've still been in her room, checking it out and whatnot.

I headed down the hallway, my natural pace settling in as I walked. When I reached the junction, the pair of guards standing there turned in my direction.

"Do you require assistance?" One of them asked in a low voice- the one that showed me and Romanoff to our rooms.

"I was planning on wandering," I answered honestly. "I am curious by nature, as it seems."

"Would you like an escort?" The other guard offered. "If you wish to journey to a specific location, such as the central courtyard, we may show you the way."

"I believe my instincts will suffice in the stead of directions," I replied, shaking my head. "Your gesture is appreciated, but I would like to be by my own for now."

"Very well, then," the first guard nodded. They settled back into their positions, like the perfect set of soldiers.

I turned heel and strode down the main hall, the one with the columns that soared upwards.

I walked through the hall, taking in the sights at my leisure. A couple of guards passed by me, each asking if I needed assistance, and each time I denied it. A guard walking me around just felt too... close for comfort.

I don't know how long I spent wandering. At least an hour, by my count. There was an endless number of halls, each one as grand as the last, and there were countless amounts of tapestries and art on the walls. Every single Midgardian museum curator would've sold their soul and their firstborn child to just look at one of the halls.

The silver marks on my hands, however, did not fade. In hindsight, that should've been the first warning. I probably should've connected the dots when they began to pulse, bright and cold like the north wind. When that happened, I should've turned tail, ran, found Thor, and demanded to go back to Midgard. Instead, I ignored it.

A scarce moment after I dismissed the pulsing wind-marks, I heard a set of footsteps. Well, it was more like I felt the disturbance in the air. The person was walking slow and silent, like how Romanoff or Barton would.

At that time, I was examining a mural depicting a battle against the race of Frost Giants- the Jotuns. When I found that a person was drawing nearer, and not walking like one of the guards, I turned around out of curiosity.

A man was heading down the hall, a bit away from me. He was dressed in dark grey clothes- breeches, riding boots, tunic, and a leather vest. A quiver and a dark bow were slung over his shoulder, marking him as a hunter.

He was tall, to say the least, with pure black hair cut shorter than would be expected of an Asgardian. Stubble was evident on his chin and face, and he carried himself with the sort of air you only get from being tried, tested, and succeeding.

With a sudden jolt, I realized who it was.

I took a step towards him before I noticed what I was doing. But the sound of my footfall was enough to alert the man of my presence.

He turned in my direction, eyebrows knitted in confusion. I froze, standing still. He didn't move.

"You are not a guard, nor a lady," he said in rough voice. "State yourself."

My mouth way dry. I had to swallow before I found my voice. "I- I am-"

"Speak, girl," he cut across my stuttering. His dark eyes, as dark as my own, narrowed.

I took a breath. "I am... Gale. Gale of Midgard."

"Midgard?" The Asgardian said, sounding a bit bewildered. "I was aware that Prince Thor was bringing the heroes of that realm for the Feast of Litha, but I was not expecting to meet a child."

"I..." I blinked, taking a few steps forward. The man shifted in his place, unconsciously moving into a fighter's defensive stance.

And then I did something that surprised him further. I sank into a bow, deeper than the one I gave to Odin.

"Child, why do you hold yourself as such?" He asked me.

"My people have only seen your face once before," I said in a low tone, straightening my back and looking the man in the eye. "But it was enough to remember, and our books all have the depiction of you."

"Your people?" The man repeated, a hint of suspicion tainting his voice.

"I am Gale," I said again. "Gale, of the Teneo. My people owe our existence to you, Ullr of the Bow."

"How do you know my name?" Ullr frowned, staring at me.

"As I said, my people owe our lives to you." I lifted one of my hands, palm up. As I spoke, the silver patterns swirled into a more familiar marking: the _hagalaz_. Ullr looked at it with sudden understanding in his eyes. "Centuries ago, in the time of gods and ice, you visited Midgard and found a village of humans. There, you used your Asgardian powers to-"

Before I could finish my sentence, Ullr moved as quick as a flash. I was pushed back into the wall, one of his hands encompassing my throat.

Ullr lifted his hand, dragging me up into the air. I gasped for breath, clutching at the god's wrist, the silver marks on my hands throbbing. Ullr's eyes were glinting like stars, stars that were dark as night itself.

"So you're one of the creatures," Ullr mused in a deadly tone, examining my face, which was full of shock and fear. "I thought you had all died out. But here you are, in my home, wandering freely like a royal mutt."

"What- you-" I croaked. Ullr glared, and tightened his grip. My eyes briefly rolled back, my lungs burning.

"Listen very closely, Gale of the _Teneo_ ," he sneered. "Breathe a word of who you truly are, or who your people say they be, and I will end you. You will beg for death before it comes."

A whimper escaped my lips along with the last of my air. Black spots danced fuzzily in my vision.

"Am I understood?" Ullr asked calmly, obviously not expecting an answer.

Suddenly, he released my throat. I fell to the floor on my hands and knees, barely managing to hold myself up. My lungs heaved, sucking in the fresh air at such a rate that I ended up choking and coughing.

Ullr's boots were in front of my face, shining dully in the light. Without warning, he gave me a swift kick in the ribs, knocking me on my side.

"Remember," Ullr said in his rough, cold tone as he stared down at me. "A word leaves you, and you will have a new meaning of pain."

With that, he silently walked away, leaving me on the floor.

I wheezed in another breath, putting a hand against the wall, and weakly pushing myself onto my knees. The silver marks on my hands had faded, and with a shock that cut through the fog of my addled mind, I realized that my bare skin looked so... human. So utterly human that it made my stomach revolt.

The taste of copper filled my mouth. Spitting out the wad of blood, I saw it hit the floor. A _human_ blemish in the Asgardian palace.

The blood settled into the gold engravings in the floor. Or, rather, a specific letter. Hagalaz. 

There was no one else in the hall.

Nothing but me, and my aching throat, and the bloody hagalaz trapping in all the light around it, as if daring the gold to fight its prescense.

I got to my feet, legs trembling. The silence of the hall seemed to press in on me from all sides, threatening and heavy.

And all I could think of were the books Mama read to me, with the leather covers stamped in gold, and the metal latches with iron keys, and the beautiful paintings inside of them that all showed a hunter riding through a snowy forest. The paintings that all had the dark-haired, dark-eyed god, with his ever present bow, and the same words written beneath each depiction.

Ancestor Ullr.


	23. Of cold and winter came I, bringing the whispers of ages past

Ancestor Ullr.

The books spoke in their whispered voices of the silent hunter who slipped through the forests in winter, leaving trace nor trail of his existence. They spoke of a righteous Asgardian god. They spoke of the beginning of our people.

I did not believe that the books knew everything. I never have. I never will. Books are written by the winners and protected innocents. Nowhere will you find a book written by a villain, because no one will write themselves as such.

My throat was still burning. Every breath I took seemed to rub like sandpaper through my lungs. With each step towards the guest room I had been given, I felt my ribs bruising where Ullr's boot had found my side.

I somehow managed to get myself back to the room without finding the rest of the Avengers. But I did have to go past the two guards that were stationed at the cross section between corridors.

"Maiden Gale," one of them nodded at me as I approached them. "May we be of assistance?"

I started to shake my head, and then thought better of it. "Actually," I began, voice raspy. I cleared my throat before trying again. "Actually, I'd like to know when the feast is."

"The banquet will begin one hour before sundown," the same guard told me. "Afterwards, the usual festivities will commence."

I nodded. "Thank you. Also... is it possible for someone to bring some food to my room? Unless my fellow guests and I are to gather for lunch."

"We can arrange that," the other guard said. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all," I gave them a brief smile, the kind I had tailored to put people at ease, and quietly headed down the left corridor and into my room.

Once I was there, I felt my knees go weak all over again. Leaning against the wall for support, I shut my eyes and forced myself to suck in a deep breath.

I... I didn't know what to do.

My parents had often spoke of Ullr. Of how, someday, our people would make contact with him. Of how we would form ties with Asgard, and no longer lie about our true lineage. 

Of course, my parents didn't think I'd be the one to meet him. They thought it would be years until Asgard decided to send scouts to Earth again. And even then, there were members of our community who were groomed from childhood to be diplomats, for the specific purpose of finding Ullr.

And Ullr was going to kill me.

I had no doubt about that. If I told anyone of my ancestry, of my people's- of the _Teneo_ 's- origins, Ullr would track me down and rip the life out of my body.

But I couldn't just leave. I'd have to get Heimdall to open the Bifrost, and I'd have to tell Thor about my departure, and then the others would start asking questions. Maybe that would be all Ullr needed to drive an arrow through my heart.

And after that... where could I go?

SHIELD would be jumping to lock me up again. And I'd honestly rather die than live the rest of my life in a glass and metal cage, never seeing the sky.

I could try to escape back to Russia, and find... find my people. They wouldn't be too hard to locate. But as to whether or not they'd welcome me with open arms... I could be exiled for what I had done before I came to America.

All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door behind me.

I jolted, raising my arms in defense before I realized that Ullr wouldn't knock if he was out for blood. Walking over to the door, trying to calm my racing heart, I opened it to find a young woman standing there.

"The guards said you requested food, my lady," she dipped into a respectful curtsy, somehow not dropping the golden tray in her hands.

"Oh," I stared before coming to my senses. "Oh, right. Um, I can just take that..." I awkwardly reached forward and took hold of the tray. "Thanks."

"Anything else I can help with?" The woman asked me, face honest and open.

"No, I'm good," I nodded to her. "That's- that's it."

"Very well then." She gave me another slight curtsy and shut the door. I heard her quiet footsteps padding down the hall as she walked away.

I turned back towards the table and set the tray down there. There was a roll of perfectly baked bread, a small bowl of fruit, and a few slices of what looked like steak or some similar meat. A finely cut glass cup and a mini-pitcher were also clumped onto the tray. As to how that serving-woman managed to keep all of those things on the tray, I had no clue.

I poured myself some water, taking a careful sip, thinking about my options here.

I couldn't leave Asgard immediately without drawing extreme attention to myself, and therefore Ullr, even though no one knew of our encounter. So that meant I had to stay here for the time being.

Ullr said he'd kill me if I breathed a word of our connection. But he was the god of hunting and duels, not of oaths and kept promises. He might just decide to finish strangling me, and be done with the problems I posed by simply being here.

I ate the food in front of me mechanically, still lost deep in thought. I had to be sure of my decision, I had to make sure I knew what I chose was the right thing to do.

I could not leave Asgard. Therefore, I must stay until the feasting ends.

I could not turn to Barton and Romanoff and Rogers and Dr. Banner and Stark, because they would not understand. Therefore, I must do this all alone.

I could not trust Ullr to keep me alive. Therefore, his threat held no weight over my head.

I could not leave, I could not turn to anyone, I could not trust Ullr.

That only left one clear course of action. I did not want to go through with it... but if I didn't, I would die, or I would be locked up, or any number of bad things would be set into motion.

I knew what I was going to do.

I just didn't know if I would be able to carry the weight of my actions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was well into its descent in the sky by now. The clouds were turning red and gold, glinting off of the sea like a dragon's hoard. The wind was stronger, stirring the leaves on trees with more vigor than before.

I was standing by the balcony, watching the lights along streets and in houses far below turn on, glowing bronze and yellow. The guards would be here any minute now, coming to show me to the feast, where the other Avengers and... Ullr... would be.

I raised a hand to my throat absentmindedly, running the tips of my cool fingers over the skin. Earlier, I had spent an hour focusing on the balcony, getting in touch with all of the winds around me. It took another hour, but I worked some minor mending and removed the bruises from my throat, and the ache from my ribs.

The food that the serving woman had brought was all but crumbs now. Hey, what can I say? I stress eat sometimes. Haven't actually done that in a while, though, seeing as my meals for the past year came from a dumpster, SHIELD, or whatever Stark had in the kitchen fridge. Not much to gorge on, unless you liked half-finished burgers, potatoes, or Chinese takeout leftovers.

Someone knocked on the door.

I turned my head just as the door swung open. A female guard stood there, holding a rather tall spear in one hand, and dressed in ornate armor. "Maiden Gale," she said in a clear voice. "The feast will commence shortly. Your companions are being escorted to the hall as of this moment."

"Thank you," I told her. "I'm ready."

I walked towards her, out of my room and into the hallway. The air seemed colder, but I didn't mind, even though it cut through my clothing like a mountain storm.

The guard led me down the corridor and through a series of halls that all blended into each other in my eyes. I couldn't see any other guards- they must already be in at the feast.

We finally reached a set of double doors- the same doors that led to Odin's throne room. In front of them, I could see Barton and Romanoff, who were chatting among themselves as they stood there.

Now, a couple of hours ago, after I had mended the bruises on my throat, another serving woman had dropped by. Apparently Odin was expecting us humans to come to Asgard under-prepared, and the royal family was employing several seamstresses, so... that serving woman came to my room with an armful of formal Asgardian clothes.

Yeesh, I know. Embarrassing. But it seemed like I wasn't the only one who got a surprise package.

Romanoff was wearing a deep red dress, one with a slit that ran up one side. The bottom of the dress was slim, and brushed the floor. I had a suspicion that Thor had mentioned her 'Black Widow' counterpart to the tailors, and they'd taken it to heart, because black embroidery along the hems and the v-neckline made a sort of spider-web pattern that was fascinating and intricate.

Barton had been given a dark purple shirt and black trousers- I guess that Asgardians would typically wear their set of fancy armor over that, but seeing as us Midgardians didn't exactly have that, Barton just ended up looking slightly out of place.

"Are the others inside already?" I called out as I neared them.

Barton and Romanoff both turned to look in my direction. Romanoff raised her eyebrows at me. "I think that's the first time I've ever seen you not in jeans, sweatpants, or t-shirts," the woman said, not bothering to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"They seriously gave you that to wear?" Barton snorted. "Did you punch the maid for giving you a dress?"

"Har har," I rolled my eyes. "I'll have you know that the woman was quite open to taking suggestions, and I even got this hemmed up in time."

"I'll bet," Barton sniggered. "The clothes here aren't fitted for children."

"I will stab you with a fork," I told him mildly.

"Gale," Romanoff started, tilting her head a bit. "Did something happen?"

I was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to say.

"Gale," Barton took a step forward, looking... concerned. "Something wrong?"

I finally shook my head. "No," I let out a short, humorless chuckle. "I just had to make a choice."

"You sure?" Romanoff's tone was wary. "You seem... off."

I took in a deep breath, put on a small grin, and looked at both of the adults. "You guys wanted answers, right? I get the feeling you're going to find quite a few before the night is over."

With that, I walked past the pair of confused assassins, and the female guard opened the doors for me by herself, despite their obvious size and weight.

I came into a whirlwind of color and light and sound.

At least a hundred people dressed in silk and armor were gathered in the golden hall, talking and laughing and moving about like butterflies in a garden. There were musicians somewhere- the gentle sound of a lute with a wooden flute floated above the crowd.

Glowing spheres hung in the air near the ceiling, slowly roving around the room and casting light onto the already bright scene. Wooden wreaths made from tree branches hung on the walls, with orange and brass colored leaves still attached. The floor was still shiny, even though dozens of people shuffled their feet across it. Several servants, dressed in white and brown, swiftly cut through the crowd, like sparrows in flight.

I could feel the weight of stares pressing down on me as I entered the grand hall. Whispers carried on the air clearer than the laughs and the music. A couple of fingers pointed my way as I passed by their owners, and I knew what the gods and goddesses were staring at.

It was my dress. Silver-grey and smooth like cold water, it fell down my body to graze the floor, hiding a simple pair of black slippers that were a lot like flats but sturdier. A darker sort of band cinched the fabric above my waist, shimmering dully under the golden lights. The neckline was modest, coming down in a 'v' without being overly flashy.

But the back, the back of the dress is what drew the peoples' attention. When the seamstress had showed up in my room, I knew that the wind-colored dress was the right one. I'd asked her, though, if she could alter the back... removing most of the fabric but keeping it from fluttering open...

It showed the tattoos.

From a couple inches below my neck, all the way down my spine, were the inky black letters in the same language that decorated this palace. And at the top on either side, over my shoulder blades, were two wings as dark as night. Together, the black markings looked like a sword standing point down- the sword of a warrior awaiting their battle.

I held my head high, refusing to appear uncertain or weak. This was not a time for second thoughts. This was a time of pride. I earned the tattoos; I should not be made to feel ashamed of them.

"Dang, Gale," Barton said from behind me. "Didn't take you for the punk type."

"I earned these," I told him, keeping my eyes focused ahead.

"What do they mean?" Romanoff asked, coming up on my left. "That word, it's in... whatever they write in here in Asgard, right?"

"Yes."

"You're fifteen. Isn't that sorta... illegal?" Barton raised an eyebrow.

"You're seriously asking me that?" I gave Barton a wry smile. "Come on, guys, it's a feast. Not an interrogation."

I left the two adults behind and slipped into a mass of people, clad in shades of red and bronze. They were laughing, telling stories in their odd accents. Huh. Did I sound like that when I spoke formally? Maybe.

"Maiden Gale," a new voice suddenly greeted me. I turned to my right, and saw Thor standing there in his armor and cape.

"Thor," I smiled. "Asgardians sure know how to throw a banquet." I gestured to the lights and the wreaths around the room.

"As you know, the Feast of Litha is important to Asgard," Thor shrugged, but grinned. "I see you have drawn much attention."

I nodded, a heavier air taking over me. "It... I have decided to stop hiding."

"A wise decision," Thor told me. "Where are Eye of Hawks and the Deadly One?"

"Barton and Romanoff? Oh, somewhere back there. I just saw them."

"My son," a second voice startled me.

A woman was standing on my left, wearing a cobalt blue dress with golden ceremonial armor over it. Her wavy brown hair was done up in a fancy style. She was smiling at Thor warmly.

"Mother," Thor greeted the woman.

"Queen Frigga," I said with sudden realization. I started to nod respectfully, but she waved a hand.

"No need for formalities, child," Queen Frigga said in an amused tone.

"It is an honor to meet you," I told the queen sincerely.

"And likewise," Queen Frigga replied, "to see a Midgardian of such an age traveling with heroes."

"With all due respect, your majesty," I started. "Age has no factor. Us humans are merely toddlers compared to Asgardians, yet you yourself called the Avengers heroes."

The queen let out a brief laugh. "Truer words, I believe, have not been said so bluntly to my face."

I felt my cheeks turn a bit red. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It is a refreshing change of pace," Queen Frigga assured me with a smile. She then turned to Thor. "So where did you pick this one up?"

"She was with my friends when I came to Midgard, to invite them all here," Thor answered. "She... as Man of Iron calls it... 'tagged along'."

"I see. Maiden Gale, I was wondering..." Queen Frigga trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Your display of your... gifts... would you be so kind as to..."

I was a bit taken aback by the queen's request. "Uh, okay. I mean, certainly, your majesty."

I raised my left hand, and willed the air to bend around me. A mesh of glowing wind-threads appeared, hovering and pulsing above my palm. I could feel my hair, which I had pinned up in a elegant mesh of twists and small braids, flutter in reaction to the current of air.

"Incredible," the queen murmured. "Are your parents magicians? Or sorcerers?"

I stared at the ball of wind and watched as it slowly disappeared, my mind flashing back to images of Mama and Papa, weaving flame and marble. "My parents are no more," I finally said in a quiet sort of voice. "But my mother danced with fire, and my father could craft stone like no other."

"I am truly sorry to hear that," Queen Frigga told me, and I could see the understanding in her eyes. "They would be proud, then, to see their daughter consorting with Asgardians as if she were born among them."

I let out a tiny, nervous chuckle. "Yes, I suppose."

Queen Frigga tilted her head ever so slightly, looking at me with seemed to be curiosity. "Thor," she addressed her son without turning away from me. "Please excuse Gale and I for a moment."

Thor's eyebrows creased in confusion. "Mother-"

"Thank you, my son," Queen Frigga put a hand on my shoulder and began leading me through the crowds, towards the walls. When we broke away from the masses of people, she turned to me with an odd expression.

"Is something the matter?" I asked her, a bit suspicious.

"Who are you?" Queen Frigga replied, her voice no longer so warm and friendly.

"I'm afraid I don't know-"

"Your magic is not of any sort I have seen before," she cut across me. "And believe me, I have studied every form of magic known to Asgard and most of the nine realms."

"I-"

"And if you think you can lie to me, I would severely reconsider the judgement involved."

I stared at the queen. She was holding herself perfectly upright, and even though she wasn't wearing a crown, she commanded the same authority. And she was waiting for my answer.

"Queen Frigga," I started. "I did not come to Asgard with ill wishes. I do not plan on being a threat to you and your people."

"Cleverly worded, but not the answer I was looking for." Queen Frigga gave a sort of wry smile, without humor. "You would get along well with my son."

"Thor?" I frowned. "I don't think-"

"However, that still does not answer my question. Who are you, Gale of Midgard?"

"I am a person," I shrugged. "With gifts that no human can explain. I'd like for the details to be disclosed at my leisure, if that is acceptable for you."

The regal woman gave me an appraising look- calculating, in that sense. "Make no mistake, I do want answers. But..." her gaze slightly softened. "I am willing to wait. I do not believe you are a threat to my people, Gale of Midgard."

"Thank you, your majesty," I nodded to her. I began to turn around, to head back to the crowds of people, when Queen Frigga's voice cut through the air once more.

"Gale... in your years, how old are you?"

I paused, a bit thrown off-balance by the question. "I... am fifteen winters, Queen Frigga."

"You are young," she stated more than questioned, and now, a trace of sadness was evident on your face. "And from what Thor tells me, a sort of prisoner of SHIELD's."

I thought about that for a moment. "I am able to handle myself. And, though it pains me to admit it, I have not given SHIELD a reason to trust me or let me roam freely. For now, I will take what freedom I can gather."

"Strange," Queen Frigga murmured. "Fifteen winters, and the wisdom of a thousand."

"Thank you, your majesty," I dipped my head in respect to the queen, and silently walked back into the crowd.

I got about ten feet forward before someone else stopped me- an Asgardian man, dressed in bronze and red. His friends, in similar color schemes, flocked around me like seagulls around a neglected bag of chips. For at least ten minutes, I had to entertain them and their questions of Midgard, and of the rest of the Avengers.

Just when I was seriously considering faking a heart attack and getting out of there, a sudden booming noise came from the front of the hall.

A wave of silence shifted over the hall, every pair of eyes focusing up ahead. Odin was standing in front of his throne, his golden armor gleaming like the sun was trapped in its designs. Queen Frigga was on his right, and Thor on his left. Odin readjusted his grip on his spear- which he had just pounded on the floor, drawing everyone's attention.

"Guests and friends," Odin said, his voice carrying clearly through the air. "We are gathered to celebrate the beginning of the Feast of Litha, the start of the long, cold seasons. Tonight, we share our company over food and cheer."

With a wave of Odin's hand, four dozen servants rushed in from hidden doors scattered around the room. Between them all, they carried out large wooden tables and benches, and set them down before us. The Asgardians, and myself, had to back up a bit as the servants scurried around, bringing out plates and silverware and goblets.

And before I knew it, the hall had been transformed into a banquet room in the blink of an eye.

"Let us feast!" Odin boomed.

The silence broke as several people cheered, and laughter and conversations broke out. Servants began ushering people into their seats, which I suppose were pre-organized.

"Maiden Gale?" Someone spoke up. I twisted to my right, and saw a servant standing there, hands clasped behind his back. "I am to escort you to your table."

"Oh," I nodded. "I mean, lead the way."

He started walking towards the front of the hall. The tables themselves were arranged in a 'U' shape, but near the throne, there were two more tables in a 'T' that I assumed were for the royal family and other high-ranking Asgardians.

"Gale," I heard someone call out. Looking around, I saw Barton and Romanoff heading towards the same two tables, being led by yet another servant.

"Hey," I greeted them as the two assassins came up on my left. "Isn't this all so fancy?"

"Yeah," Barton snorted. "I don't think they're gonna have pizza or Chinese takeout."

"Thank the Yggdrasil for that," I rolled my eyes. "There's only so much of that stuff I can tolerate."

"Your seat, Maiden Gale," the servant interrupted me politely, and gestured towards the table going perpendicular to the top of the 'T' shape.

I stood by a set of silverware and a plate, and waited for the others to arrive. Romanoff was on my immediate left, and Barton on my right. Rogers appeared after Barton, then Stark, then Dr. Banner. All of us humans were sending silent messages back and forth with our stares, like 'Why are we all up in the front', 'This is fancier than I originally thought', and 'If we're all on one side of the table, who's gonna be on the other'.

I also think Stark was trying to see if there was any alcohol in the vicinity, but hey, I wasn't paying too close attention to him.

"Why are we standing?" Barton whispered to me, obviously ready to get on with the eating portion of the celebration.

"Because the kind hasn't sat down yet, doofus," I rolled my eyes.

Odin took his place at the very front of the table running perpendicular to ours, with Queen Frigga and Thor at his sides. The queen, catching my eye, gave me a very tiny nod. I slightly dipped my head in return, a silent exchange passing between us.

The entire hall grew quieter, every person standing in front of the benches. Every eye was on Odin, who paused for a second, surveying the room. Then, with the grace of someone who totally wanted to keep everyone else waiting, he took a seat in a well-crafted wooden chair.

There was a loud scraping sound as the guests and us humans sat down, and settled onto the wooden benches. I let out a tiny sigh as the weight was taken off my feet. Don't get me wrong, I could stand at attention for at least another three hours, but after everything that had happened today... I was happy to be sitting for once.

Then, like clockwork, the servants streamed back through the hidden doors, and no less than a minute later, came back out with golden and silver trays. They placed them at intervals along every table, and soon enough every surface was covered with food platters that were covered.

In one, unified gesture, the servants whisked the covers off of the trays. 

Perfectly cooked meat, arrangements of fruits and greens, bread that was crisp and bronze, glazed bits of pastries- it was like every Renaissance painting of a feast had been boiled down and concentrated into the scene before me. The smell alone was enough to knock you off your feet. I could hardly imagine how it would taste.

"Holy mother of..." Barton trailed off, eyes wide.

"Let us eat," Odin said in an almost quieter voice, and immediately, everyone in the hall reached forward and dug in.

I instantly carved off a piece of meat from a cooked pheasant of some sort that was directly in front of me. Its feathers, a brilliant green, were arranged in a circle around the rim of the plate. 

"Oh, I think I'm in heaven," I heard Stark mutter as I carefully put an apple tart on my plate, followed by several small rolls that had runes pressed into the tops.

"I am glad to see you happy, my friends," Thor grinned at us from his seat.

"Well, I have to say, Asgardian feasts beat Midgardian food any day," Rogers said with a slight chuckle.

"Is that so?" Odin spoke up, making us humans look at him apprehensively. "And what kinds of... delicacies... does Midgard posses?"

"It varies from region to region," Romanoff was the first to speak. "But where I come from- where Gale comes from as well- we have knish, pelmini, blini, and vodka, of course."

"You and Maiden Gale are of the same country?" Odin raised an eyebrow. "And yet only she wields inhuman abilities."

"I am not to be considered a... _normal_ Midgardian," I said carefully. "There are scarce few people like me."

"Is that so?" Odin trained his one eye on me. I saw Thor occupy himself with his food suddenly. Great. That didn't fill me with dread at all.

"Midgardians are..." I thought about the right words for a moment. "Weak, for the most part."

Stark choked on a piece of what seemed to be steak. "Excuse me?"

"We are not as strong, nor as fast, nor as advanced as Asgardians," I looked Odin in the eye, speaking calmly. "But sometimes, due to unpredictable circumstances, certain Midgardians acquire... strange powers. Whether they be by birth-" I dipped my head, "- or by science-" I gestured to Rogers and Dr. Banner, "- they put us somewhere near on par with beings from other realms."

"I see," Odin nodded sagely. "And yet you say you are a hostage of this organization called SHIELD, even though you claim to posses abilities that no one else has."

Queen Frigga put a hand on her husband's shoulder in a cautionary gesture. I felt Romanoff and Barton stiffen on either side of me. Odin, however, stared me down, and I could hear the challenge in his voice.

"I am no hero," I said slowly. "I am no villain. I know my limits, and my enemies, and my needs. And I know my truth, and believe me when I say that I am no liar. My powers are mine of a circumstance beyond my control. I refuse to use them to hurt for the sake of hurting. And the implication that I am a traitor and spy to my own people is an offense I do not take lightly."

Everyone in hearing range froze, even the servant who was in the process of pouring Queen Frigga a glass of water. Everybody was staring at me. I simply gazed calmly back at the king, who was returning the favor with an expression I couldn't read.

"Well said." Odin finally spoke. "Your words do you credit."

Thor was blatantly looking at Odin with nothing less than shock. I'm pretty sure the servant was about to faint.

"I believe I have not yet thanked you for your hospitality," I nodded at Odin. "It is most gracious of you."

"You speak better than your companions," the king noted. "Do all children talk like you in Midgard in the stead of others?"

"We thank you all for your presence," Queen Frigga jumped in, saving us all from a very humiliating conversation. "Thor speaks highly of you all."

"It's an honor to fight beside a man such as your son," Rogers gestured to Thor. "He's a good fighter."

"Do not talk lightly of your own achievements," Thor chuckled. "I recall several moments in the battle against the Chitauri where you all managed to 'save the day', as you put it."

"And speaking of fighting," Romanoff began, setting down her silver fork. "Didn't you mention your friends, Thor? I though we'd get to meet them."

"Ah, Sif and the Warriors Three!" Thor smiled. "They are occupied as of the moment, but they will join us after the supper ends."

"Oh," Dr. Banner said. "I take it they were supposed to sit there?" He pointed to the other side of our table, where five empty six empty seats were.

"Yes," Queen Frigga confirmed. "But the other two guests are to arrive... soon, I hope."

I was silent for a moment, savoring a chunk of that pheasant. The taste was... indescribable. Seasoned to perfection, and tender enough to fall apart at the touch.

"This is magnificent," I said aloud, after I had swallowed. "Whoever prepared this is truly gifted."

Queen Frigga cast a look over my head at something behind me, and smiled. "Perhaps you can tell him that yourself."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark figure walk smoothly past us, and around the other side of the table. The man gave the kind and queen a respectful bow, and then sat down directly in front of me.

It was Ullr.

I stared at him. He gave me a cold smile. "I hear you are enjoying the roc that I hunted yesterday."

I couldn't speak for a moment. All I could see was his dark, dark eyes, and I felt his fingers around my throat, cutting off my air-

"Ullr, I am glad you could join us," Odin told the man.

"As am I," Ullr said to the king. "The hunting expedition took longer than expected. I was delayed by it. I apologize for my tardiness- I simply wished to look presentable for the feast." He gestured down to his clothes. 

He was wearing the same dark tunic and trouser from before, but he was wearing a black leather vest of sorts with silver runes worked into the hems. His hair was combed neatly, and the last traces of dirt were washed from his face.

"It is an honor to meet you, heroes of Midgard," Ullr said with sincerity that almost sounded honest. "It is a rare occurrence to meet beings from other realms, especially ones so... unique." He sent a small smile in Romanoff's direction.

I heard Barton mutter a curse under his breath. "He's gonna get his eyes ripped out," the archer shook his head, speaking quietly.

"Amen," I muttered back. "There's no way she's gonna _not_ kill him-"

"Are all Asgardians this charming?" Romanoff replied, smirking at Ullr.

Barton and I stared at Romanoff with identical looks of horror.

Ullr let out a chuckle. "My lady, you are truly a refreshing sight among these golden halls. Not that there is anything lacking in Asgard," he nodded to Odin.

I busied myself with my food, taking another bite of the pheasant. This time, however, it tasted like sawdust, now that I knew who killed it.

"Maiden Gale," a voice came from behind me. "May I...?"

I looked behind me and saw a servant there, holding a pitcher. I nodded, moving slightly out of the way as he carefully poured an amber liquid into my goblet, before dropping back and vanishing into the background.

"Whoa, pipsqueak, I don't think you're ready to be drinking just yet," Barton said when he noticed my glass.

"It is a type of cider, made from special trees in the royal gardens," Thor cut in. "It is not alcoholic, but tastes remarkably similar to it. Most children drink it on festivals."

"Oh," I said, realizing that everyone else had water or wine. "Makes sense." I raised the goblet to my lips and took a measured sip.

The liquid rolled over my tongue like water, but the taste... It tasted like honey and crisp snow and like the smell of autumn. My eyes went wide. "This is delicious," I said, somewhat in surprise.

"I take there are no beverages similar to it in your homeland," Odin spoke in his rough tone.

Ullr's dark gaze snapped back to mine, eyes narrowing. "Your homeland?" He asked in a carefully neutral tone. "And what is that, pray tell?"

I took another sip of the cider, only to to wet my throat, which had run dry all of a sudden. "It's-" My voice caught, making me cough. "It's a country in Midgard, known as Russia. It's where I was born."

"And that is all?"

"Yes." My heart was hammering in my chest. I knew that Ullr couldn't kill me right here, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do something- _anything..._

"You look pale," Barton frowned, looking down at me.

"Yeah," Stark chimed in. "Hey, is it just me, or do Gale and Ullr look really alike?"

There was a moment when everyone, including Odin and Queen Frigga, examined my face, and then Ullr's. I could see Ullr's jaw tensing under the scrutiny, and his eyes glared at me.

"Dark hair, dark eyes, fair skin," Dr. Banner mused. "Yeah, I guess they do."

"What a coincidence," I said in a deceptively cool tone. I saw Ullr look almost praisingly at me, and a curl of nausea twisted in my gut.

"Anyway," Queen Frigga leaned forward. "I, for one, am interested in your stories. How is it that a man builds a suit of iron armor, and manages to fly?"

"Well," Stark started, a trace of excitement entering his voice. "It sort of happened without me planning it..."

And then the spotlight moved off of me. I didn't know if anyone else saw it, but I let out a breath that I had been holding. From there on, the adults were talking. Queen Frigga and Odin seemed to have a ready supply of questions that the Avengers had no trouble in answering, which meant I didn't have to speak. That was okay. I was cool with that.

Ullr kept looking over at me, and each time, I could see a smirk curling on his face. He knew how rattled up I was. He knew my neck was still aching.

He thought I was going to play along with his threat.

At least two hours went by. My plate slowly was emptied. I kept sipping at the cider, and each time the goblet got low, a servant would appear just to top it off again. It was liked being waited upon by ghosts. 

But everyone was happy. Everyone was laughing- well, Odin looked less grumpy, but that counts. And the rest of us humans seemed to be enjoying themselves. Still, I felt a tingle down my spine each time Ullr glanced back at me.

Soon enough, Odin stood up, stopping Dr. Banner's speech about modern science and his field of expertise that had Queen Frigga. We all looked up at the kind, momentarily confused.

"I trust everyone is satisfied?" Odin called out, and there was a chorus of nods and 'Yes, my king'-s.

"Very well, then." Odin raised his hands, and every servant straightened up and stood at attention. All of the guests stood up from the benches, and I hurried to do the same. In unison, the servants rushed forward and removed every plate, tray, and goblet. Vanishing briefly into whatever rooms waited behind the hidden doors, they quickly re-entered the hall, and smoothly grasped the ends of each table and began to carry them off.

"They've gotta be super strong to do all that," Barton said to himself, watching the servants bustle back and forth like a hive of bees.

In less than a minute, the hall had been transformed back into its original state, with no trace of food or drink anywhere. The floor was still spotlessly shiny. I decided then and there that Asgard was the only place that knew how to do banquets right.

"Be cheery, my people, and enjoy the evening," Odin said in a loud voice, and I saw smiles appear all around.

People began to break up and find their friend, talking with each other and laughing. From one of the servants' doors, I saw a handful of people move into the room, and stand on the gleaming floor somewhat near us. They each were carrying an instrument- I saw two wooden flutes, a small harp, a pair of finely crafted drums, and what passed for a fiddle.

"Musicians?" Romanoff asked in surprise. "I thought this was just going to be dinner."

"No, my friend," Thor grinned. "This is an Asgardian festival. The merriment will not cease for days." 

The musicians started up a jovial tune, and there were happy cries from several people who obviously recognized it. There were a few Asgardians who began to pair up and move to the center of the room, laughing and holding hands.

The other people in the room started to back up a bit, forming a circle. The ones in the middle seemed to wait for a second, hands clasped together, and then when a certain note changed in the music, they began to dance. 

It was a simple sort of dance, one that involved the partners spinning around each other, and the men twirling the ladies every now and then. A couple more people decided to jump into the dance, and I felt a smile cross my face as the sounds of laughter and music seemed to wash away the closeness of the crowd.

After what seemed to be a mere moment, the music stopped, and the dancer slowed to a halt, faces flushed and bright. A second passed, and then the musicians struck up a second tune, this one quicker and more insistent. More dancers joined the first few, spinning around and laughing, their clothes fluttering like dove wings in the sky.

"If it would not trouble you," Ullr's cool voice came from behind me and the other humans. "May I ask you for a dance?"

I turned around, and saw him offering his hand to Romanoff, who looked back at him in slight shock. "A dance?" She repeated.

Ullr's grin widened. "That wasn't a no."

Then Barton suddenly swooped in and stood next to Romanoff, and hooked his arm through hers. "Actually," Barton said, smirking at Ullr. "I'm stealing my partner for this one."

Romanoff grinned at that, and Barton held his head up high as he led her towards the dance floor, Romanoff's red dress swishing behind her. "Get a wing man next time!" Barton called back at Ullr.

I snorted at that. "Nice try," I told Ullr. "But us Russian females are a bit harder to get than that."

"Hm," Ullr mused, tilting his head as he stared piercingly at me. "I do not understand how humans still seem to be so excited over talking dogs, as your friend Stark mentioned earlier. You've been alive for years."

My blood boiled at that. I wanted to curse Ullr out in every language I knew, but the only thing stopping me was the fact that I was human, for the most part, and Ullr was a god. This was Asgard, not New York. I'd only make things incredibly bad if I made a scene.

Ullr grinned in victory, and moved off into the crowd without another word or even a backwards glance.

In the middle of the room, Romanoff and Barton were dancing a quicker version of a waltz, with more flourishes and spins. Other dancers made sure not to run into them, and I could tell that the two assassins weren't caring about running into other people.

The music ended with a grand final note, and Barton swung Romanoff around and into a dip. They held the pose like that for a moment before Romanoff stood up straight, the two partners grinning at each other like crazy.

I gave them a round of applause, and Barton and Romanoff returned back to the sidelines, both breathing slightly heavily.

"Nice, guys," I told them, smiling a bit. "You two practice that or what?"

"Not all missions involve waiting in a dark alley for three hours," Barton shrugged. "We've had to blend into social parties before. Nat's had to dance with what, three princes?"

"Four," Romanoff corrected him. "And two dukes."

"Ooh, Romanoff," I smirked. "Lots of practice. Watch out, you're making every single Asgardian man in this room jealous."

"Let them be jealous," Romanoff sniffed playfully. "They can look, but they can't touch."

"Hey, kid," Stark came up from my right, followed by Rogers and Dr. Banner. "Haven't gotten a chance to talk to you since this morning."

"Yeah... so?" I frowned, turning to face them.

"Wicked tattoo," the genius grinned. "What's it mean?"

"It's... personal."

"You're fifteen," Rogers told me, giving me a pointed look. "It's a pretty big tattoo."

"I'm not some gang runner," I rolled my eyes. "My parents had ones like mine. It's a tradition of sorts."

"Oh, that's a relief," Stark snorted. "It's just the super-powered Mafia."

"It's not-" I cut myself off with a noise of frustration. "Fine. You really want to know what it means?"

All five adults looked at, showing a mixture of shock and surprise. I don't think they expected me to give in so easily. But it didn't matter. They were going to get answers sooner or later.

"It's my echelon," I admitted, shifting uncomfortably in my place. 

"Echelon? What's that?" Barton frowned.

"It's a level. Like a caste," Dr. Banner answered, giving me a curious look. "What is it?"

I took a breath, looking off to the sides. "It... it's in Elder Futhark. That's the tongue that the Asgardians write in, what the Old Norse used, centuries ago. The tattoo, it's not just something that I liked so much I put it on my skin. It's my echelon. The name and the symbol, it's all one thing. It's... the only truly physical thing I've got from my home.

"Wings," Barton said, a look of understanding coming over his face. "Part of the tattoo is wings. You can fly. That can't be a coincidence, can it?"

I slowly shook my head, a somewhat bitter smile coming over my face. "Ever wonder why I don't tell you lot anything? It's because you're all so good at figuring things out."

Romanoff was about to open her mouth, but then she abruptly stopped, staring at something over my shoulder. I turned around, and saw Queen Frigga standing there with a patient smile.

"Excuse my interruption," she started, and looked to me. "But Thor mentioned he was told that... you know how to play stringed instruments?"

I shot a glare at Stark and Barton, who were looking pretty guilty. "Well," I huffed slightly. "I know the guitar. And my mother... my mother taught me how to play the harp."

"Would you care to play something for us?" Queen Frigga asked politely. "If it's not a bother, that is."

"No, uh," I nodded. "I can do that."

"Wonderful," she smiled, and began walking towards the musicians. I followed her, and the other Avengers did the same. When we neared the musicians, they all bowed to the queen.

"May we borrow the harp?" Queen Frigga asked. The harpist nodded quickly, and handed the lap harp over to me.

I took a seat on the small stool that the harpist had previously been occupying. Tucking a stray wisp of hair back behind my ear, I then plucked each string, getting used to the feel of the instrument.

"It's perfectly tuned," I said, more to myself than anything. "Great sound. Good craftsmanship." Plucking a couple more strings, I then went over a rapid scale, going up and down, warming up my fingers.

I looked up once I had finished, and then saw that practically the entire hall was watching me. "Uh..." I stammered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

"Do you have a song you are familiar with?" Queen Frigga asked me quietly. "Sometimes it is easier to play the things we know by heart."

By heart.

A sort of calm confidence swept over me at those words. I just had to play a song I knew by heart. And I knew what song that was. Afterall, didn't I already decided that Ullr's threat had no weight on me? This song was perfect.

Taking a deep breath, I focused on the strings, and my fingers resting on them.

I heard my mother's voice in my head. 

_"Go on, Gale. The strings are meant to be played. Music is simply another way of saying what your soul is._

_Go on, Gale. Play, play the string. Play your soul song."_

I felt the winds pick up around me, but they were heavier, and they rested at my feet, still invisible. But I felt them, and I felt the quiet confidence in them. And I sang, voice smooth like winter winds, my fingers singling out minor chords that set your hairs on end.

_"If you think I'm dirty, first wash your own hands clean_

_Don't call me bad if you don't know just how wicked I can be_

_And if you try to chain me, and clip my wings so I can't fly_

_Well I know that in Death there are worse things to do than die_

_So if you think you know me and you tell me that you care_

_If you say you'll save me from the darkness_

_Darling, I'm already there_

_Stars may shine above the sky, and you may love their light_

_But don't forget that stars are ever burning, and walk the plane of night_

_And I know that you fear the dark, and claim to know its face_

_But I've been there, in those shadows, and I know it doesn't leave a trace_

_So scorn me and spurn me, say I came from the deathly black_

_But be scared, because so far..._

_No one's had the sense to turn me back"_

My voice rang out along with the last string, clearer than glass and mountain wind.

It took me a moment to come back to my senses. When I did, I looked around the hall. Every face was trained on me, wide with some darker kin of wonder.

My skin felt colder than I remembered. Eyes flickering down to my hands, I saw with a sort of quiet shock that the wind marks were covering my arms, twisting in silver trails up and down my skin. My eyes, I knew, had turned from ink-black to mercury.

"Jesus," I heard Barton exhale. "I knew you could sing, but I didn't know you could... _sing_."

I slowly stood up, placing the harp on the stool with care. Turning around to face the silent hall, I saw Odin looking at me with a vaguely impressed expression. And next to him was Ullr, facing me, his face as still as stone.

I took a step forward, bringing me next to Barton and the other humans. Looking up at Barton, I noticed, probably for the first and last time, that he wasn't looking at me as an annoyance or a creature. He was looking at me as if I were a human.

"You wanted answers," I said in a low tone no louder than a whisper. "I told you you'll get them before the night is through."

"Gale-" Barton frowned, confused and obviously a bit suspicious. 

"Just-" I paused, finding the words. "It's my choice, to tell these things. It's always been my choice."

And with that, I gracefully stepped forward, farther into the hall, everyone watching. Looking at Odin, I bent into a modest bow. 

"I am afraid, Odin Allfather," I started in a clear voice, "that I have lied to you."

"What do you speak of, child?" Odin narrowed his eye, his face now drawn and closed.

Taking a breath, I summoned every bit of courage I had, turned a bit to the right, and looked Ullr straight in the eyes.

"I have lied about my home, my lineage, and my powers. And I have witheld the truth of a matter which concerns all of Asgard and Midgard."

"Have you been drinking too much cider?" Ullr spoke up, smiling but gritting his teeth.

"What would you know of such a magnitude?" Odin asked, and I heard the skepticism in his voice.

"You do not have to believe me," I admitted, and then straightened my back a little. "But you may believe Ullr, for he knows of what I speak."

"Allfather," Ullr hurriedly said. "This girl is obviously not sound of mind-"

"You said you lied about who you were," Odin cut across Ullr, still looking at me. "So I shall ask you, for the sake of entertaining this notion: Who are you, Maiden Gale?"

I held my chin up high. This was it. I was giving away one of my greatest secrets- one of my people's greatest secrets.

"I am Gale, of the Teneo, a faction of humans on Midgard that has existed ever since Asgardians traveled our Earth, under our skies. For the Asgardians were our creators."

There was a ripple of murmurs that rushed through the hall as my words took their toll. "That is impossible," Ullr hissed. "Asgardians do not interfere with humans-"

"And why are you so defensive?" Odin turned to Ullr. "If it is indeed impossible, why did she mention your name?"

"Because my people have a different name for him," I spoke. "Ancestor Ullr."

Now the guests were confused, and even agitated. Some of them were muttering loudly to each other, not bothering to keep their voices down.

"Lies-" Ullr protested.

"Silence." Odin ordered him. The king looked back to me, staring piercingly. "Continue."

I took a breath. My hands were almost shaking. But I had gone too far now. I had to finish.

"Centuries ago," I said, loudly, so there would be no doubt as to what I uttered. "The Asgardians would visit Midgard. That is where the old Norse found their religion. In a one-eyed king and his gods who rode on a rainbow bridge to our world, who outlived mountains and seas, who could change shape with the merest thought. But after time grew on, and the world began to be discovered, the gods went back to Asgard. They decided that the human race was not to be interfered with. The act of doing so was a crime, and the punishment severe.

"But one god, even though he was directly disobeying his king's word, decided to visit Midgard one last time. He came to a village in the far north, one that was secluded from all neighboring settlements. There, Ullr of the Bow, hunter of Asgard, became fascinated with humans, with how tiny they grew, how fragile their bodies, how fleetingly swift their lives. And with his abilities and his knowledge of the arcane, he committed the unthinkable. He removed something from the humans, and replaced it with something not of their realm.

"Ullr did this by finding what humans needed to be human- their souls. Human souls are delicate things. They are tied on one end to the human's mind and body, and on the other end to the Earth. When the connection is touched, it reacts, and the human is thrown into disjointed chaos. The slightest _touch_ could do that. But Ullr took a human soul, and he ripped it in half. The act of doing something so horrible, so irreversible... the energy released by that bond breaking leaked from the soul to the body and the mind and even the Earth around the human.

"Ullr did this to every human in the village. Every soul, he ripped apart. And that energy that spilled over from the soul, it changed the humans. The basic forces of nature- the sky, the waters, the earth, and the fire- they bonded with the humans, replacing the severed connection between the parts of their souls. 

"And then Ullr left. He did not expect for the altered humans to live. They were simply toys that were played with, to see how far they could bend before they broke. But the humans did survive. They found that some of them could summon a flame without tinder. Some could stop a landslide with a thought. Some could lift water from the rivers without touching it. And some could vanish thunder clouds with a flick of their fingers.

"These altered humans grew older, and they gave birth to the next generation. But the souls, the separation of what made a human _human_ , it carried on. Their children grew up with the same abilities, and when they grew up, their children were the same. It moved through the generations, weeding out the weak and unworthy.

"And when the times of burning witches and superstition and abhorrence of magic came, the descendants of those first few villagers moved from the lands of Norway into what now is known as Russia. There they created a community, a secret organization, devoted to cultivating and exploring their gifts- their _legacies_.

"This community, called the Teneo, has been growing over the years, gaining momentum and influence. They- _we_ \- are not a hostile faction. We only wished to someday make contact with Asgard and establish diplomatic ties, and eventually, take our place in the human world without fear of persecution or retribution.

"A handful of hours ago, I came across Ullr while exploring the halls. I attempted to explain who I was to him, and when he understood... he held me by the throat and threatened my life if I breathed a word of my origins to anyone else. But my people have hidden from the two worlds for far too long.

"So I am here in Asgard, in front of my ancestor, and I have uttered the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I am Gale, of the Teneo, and I will no longer hide."

The hall turned into an uproar once I finished speaking. I could see people yelling, shouting, some calling for Ullr's head- and some calling for mine.

"You _witch_!" Ullr bellowed, and lunged for me.

My arms shot up to protect my face out of pure reflex, but Odin snapped his spear out to the side, blocking the god's attack.

"You would dare assault a guest in my own hall?!" Odin growled, his voice near lost in the clamor of the crowd. "After these allegations against you?!"

"You will pay for this!" Ullr roared, spitting curses with ferocity, his eyes dark like storm clouds ready to break over the mountains.

"As will you!" Odin shouted back at the god.

"I challenge you!" Ullr suddenly yelled at the top of his lungs. The crowd of Asgardians looked to Ullr, still angrily calling out at the general air, but their fervor was dimmed.

"I challenge you to a _gurth coste_!" Ullr grinned savagely, like a shark.

Even Odin's eye went wide at that. "You cannot possibly-" the king spoke.

"I challenge your legitimacy, Gale of the Teneo." Ullr repeated, no longer straining to close the distance between us and rip out my throat. "Do you accept?"

The hall was completely silent. The walls themselves seemed to take in a breath and hold it. I could feel every pair of eyes slide to my face once more, waiting...

I lowered my hands and straightened my back, and no matter how my mind screamed not to, I looked Ullr in the eye.

" _Im, Gale -o i Teneo, govannon- cín coste, Ullr -o i peng_ ," I said in a cold and clear tone. "I, Gale of the Teneo, meet your challenge, Ullr of the Bow."

I saw Queen Frigga's face fall, looking at me with some emotion akin to sorrow. The guests in the hall seemed to let out the breath they'd been holding in, and the thick tension in the air was replaced with the electric charge of apprehension and nervousness. The room felt like a powder-keg.

And, slowly, I turned around, and looked up at the remaining Avengers.

Stark and Dr. Banner were shocked, to say the least. I thought the billionaire's eyebrows were going to disappear into his hairline. Rogers definitely wasn't sure what had just happened but he obviously didn't like it. Thor was surprised, like Stark and Dr. Banner, but looked more uncertain of how to proceed. Romanoff's face was traced with understanding, and I could practically see the gears whirring in her head. And Barton... Barton just looked... worried?

"What the heck just happened?" Barton demanded, walking forward to meet me, the other following.

"You're Asgardian," Dr. Banner said, still a bit shell-shocked.

"No," I told the doctor wearily. "I told you you'd get answers. Weren't you listening?"

"That's not important right now," Barton cut across my reply. He stared at me, obviously unhappy. "What kind of challenge was that jerk talking about? What does _gurth coste_ mean?"

" _Gurth coste_ ," Thor repeated, staring at me. "You agreed to Ullr's challenge."

"See," Barton started impatiently, "this is where you explain what's going on for everyone who _doesn't_ know."

" _Gurth coste_ is an ancient form of a duel," Thor answered slowly. "Gale...

"Gale accepted a death match."

Author's Note: Yes! It's finally here! The big reveal! Okay, so basically from here on out the plot's gonna speed up like crazy. If things get too confusing, leave a comment or send me a message and I'll do my best to clarify things for you. That's it. Go stew over this chapter while you wait for the next one :).


	24. Side effects of a death match do, in fact, involve death

"You did what?!"

"I-"

"What?!"

"It-"

"Out of all the idiotic things to do-"

"See-"

"I don't think you can be any more stupid than that-"

"Well-"

"You did _what?!_ "

Barton was pacing across the room, throwing his hands up in the air as he ranted. I watched him from my seat, the very image of calm.

"I can't believe you," Barton scoffed, pausing in his pacing to fix me with a glare. "You're dead."

"That typically is what a death match does," I replied dryly.

"But- _what_?!" Barton went back to his aggravated pacing.

We were in a small antechamber off of the main hall, where just a minute ago I had announced myself as basically the illegitimate child of Asgardian magic and humans. Odin had quickly escorted us into the room and then left us there. We were lone, but out of the fervored crowd. I hadn't even had the chance to see where Ullr had gone- but all I knew was that things were about to get a lot more serious.

"Asgardian," Rogers repeated slowly, from where he was standing by the door with his arms crossed. "You're Asgardian."

"No," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "I'm human. Born to humans, from a bloodline of humans. My powers are Asgardian. Nothing else."

"But that doesn't make sense," Dr. Banner frowned. He was sitting on a bench next to Stark, who was still staring at me with something akin to caution.

"Exactly," I nodded at the doctor. "Logically, following every rule of the universe, of humans, and of Asgardian magic, I shouldn't exist. But I do. Hence the commotion out in the hall. I suppose, to the Asgardians, I'm literally- how do I put this... the Devil's Child? Unholy? An abomination?"

"Darn straight," Barton muttered. "Also- a _death_ match?!"

"Barton," I started, taking a breath. "Just-"

"Just what?!" Barton raised his voice at me, once more coming to a halt. "Just sit back and watch a fifteen year-old girl get massacred?"

"Clinton Barton!" I snapped, almost rising to my feet. "You're not helping! So sit down or shut up, because I'm at the end of my wits right about now!"

The effect was immediate. Barton grumbled, but moved over to the opposite wall and leaned back against it, resolutely glaring holes in the floor. The other guys were understandably shocked that I had just basically ordered a master assassin around by his full name.

"You lied," Stark spoke up. "When we asked you about why you kept saying 'nine realms'. You said you weren't Asgardian."

"Once more," I gritted my teeth. "I'm not Asgardian. Second of all, I told you that- and I quote myself- 'I'm not secretly an Asgardian warrior set on destroying New York with an army of aliens'. Never said anything about having their powers."

"So this community..." Romanoff trailed off. "The Teneo. It's in Russia."

"Can- can we-" I sighed again. A pressure was beginning to build up in my temples, and I knew that it was gonna be a full on migraine. I had an hour, tops, before it broke. "Can we just talk about this later?"

"Later?" Barton said, breaking his silence. He was still glaring at me, but this time it was less angry and more... exasperated, somehow. "You really wanna pull that card?"

"I just violated one of the sacred oaths I took, an oath I swore on my life to keep!" I shot back. "I just told five outsiders of my people's existence. No one except for Asgard is supposed to know about us. So I just betrayed my entire people with a couple of words! I just surrendered my right to return to my _home_ out of my own free will!"

They all looked taken aback. All of a sudden, nobody really wanted to look at me.

"Tch," I muttered. "Figures."

The doors of the room swung open. Rogers straightened up, obviously ready to hold any angry Asgardians back, but it wasn't Ullr. Instead, Odin, Queen Frigga, and Thor strode into the room, the doors sliding shut silently behind them.

"You have caused quite the commotion," Odin told me, face unreadable.

"I apologize for upsetting your people," I replied in a quiet voice, still seated.

"Ullr has been detained in his quarters," Queen Frigga said in a clear voice. "You need not worry of interference on his behalf."

"Yeah," snorted Barton, "except for the part when he's gonna kill her."

"It's a duel," I rolled my eyes. "I've got a fighting chance. Literally."

Odin and Frigga moved over to an unoccupied stretch of wall, so everybody could see each other clearly. Thor sat down on the bench with Dr. Banner and Stark.

"Child," Frigga started, looking at me. "You must understand... you have thrown the balance of our society into disarray. Some are calling for you banishment. Some request that your powers be stripped from you by all means necessary. And some... some are crying for an execution."

"An execution?" Rogers' eyebrows shot up. "She's fifteen. Why is this such a big deal?"

"The punishment for disobeying the king's word is death. Gale is the product of Ullr's crime, and therefore she is considered a wrongdoing," Thor spoke in a grave voice. "Ullr would be facing the penalty as we speak, but he challenged Gale to the _gurth coste_. All matters are postponed until the trial is complete, and that itself is five days in length-"

"Five days?" asked Barton. "But it's just one fight. Right?"

"Three days of physical preparation, one of spiritual alignment, and then the duel," Odin replied. "It is a death match. These things are not rushed."

"And those five days of _Lend na haer_ begin tomorrow," I wrapped up. Glancing unsurely around the room at the other humans, I cleared my throat slightly. "You don't have to stay for the _gurth coste-_ "

"No." Rogers shook his head. "Absolutely not. You're fifteen, Gale." He turned to face Queen Frigga. "How can this fight be stopped?"

Queen Frigga sighed. "Only if one of them concedes before the duel begins. After the first blow is taken, one must die."

"So concede," Romanoff looked at me. "Right now. In front of the King and Queen of Asgard, so there's no doubt about it."

I gritted my teeth, my hands clenched in the silver fabric of my dress. "I can't."

"Excuse me?" Barton glared in my direction. "This isn't up for discussion."

"My _existence_ is up for discussion!" I snapped back. "All the rules of Asgard don't technically apply to me because my body, my blood, and my lineage is purely human. But the rules of Earth don't apply either, because I've got the powers of an Asgardian warrior. The only way to resolve this without unnecessary bloodshed is for me to go through with this."

Barton raised his hands and shook them at me, like he was trying to throttle me from across the room. He finally let out a noise of frustration and went back to pacing the floor.

"Juvie, you're in real deep now," Stark muttered, rubbing his face tiredly with one hand. "Pepper would kill you if she was here."

"Evidently there will be a line," I replied dryly, but one more glare from Barton halted my humorless words.

Odin cleared his throat, and straightened up a little. "As for now, Gale and Ullr are bound by honor to compete in the _gurth coste_. They will remain in the palace unless authorized to leave. No one is to interfere, harm, or sabotage the contestants. A permanent guard will be stationed outside of both their quarters. I will announce these conditions to the guests, to avoid any unpleasant circumstances that may arise."

The king gave me a long look from his remaining eye. "As to the existence of the... _Teneo_... I will halt Asgard's inquiries until after the match."

"But what if Gale..." Dr. Banner spoke up, not daring to finish the sentence. Everyone knew what he was talking about, though.

"Before the fight, I'll leave a contingency plan," I shrugged lightly. "I don't need to be alive for Asgard to make contact with my people."

The human adults in the room all gave me varying degrees of glares. I simply ignored them.

"You should rest, child," Queen Frigga told me gently. "These next days will not fare easily on your shoulders."

I rose from my seat, nodding in respect to the Asgardians. "Thank you, Queen Frigga. Thank you, King Odin."

"Use the servants' passageways back to your room," Thor advised me. "It would be wise to give people more time to calm down before you walk through the halls."

"Alright." I let out a sigh as I moved towards the door. "Uh... I've actually never been in the Royal Palace before, so..."

"Of course, of course," Thor headed towards me. "I'll show you the way."

"Wait up- Gale-" Barton called, but I had already left the room.

As Thor led me down a series of small hallways lit with torches, he cast a glance back at me.

"What?" I asked, already tired and not willing to put up with other peoples' concern.

"Ullr is Lady Sif's cousin," Thor said quietly. "She will not be pleased to hear of his transgression."

"Lady Sif... you mentioned her name earlier, at the feast."

"She is one of my dearest friends," Thor grinned at the words. "She and the Warriors Three have fought besides me ever since I was able to lift a sword."

"Ah. I see."

"... I can ask her, when I see her next, if she will be willing to aid you in preparation for the _gurth coste,_ " Thor offered me, a tad bit tentatively.

I felt what might've passed for an actual smile curl on my lips. "That'd be great. Thanks."

We came out of the small servants' passageways into my room, to my surprise. I thought that there'd be at least an entrance outside my room, for privacy's sake.

Thor caught my uneasy look, and hastened to reassure me. "I'll have a guard posted in the servants' passages, if that will help."

"Thanks," I said again, wearily.

"Pleasant sleep, Gale," Thor wished me with a small but genuine smile, and exited through the main doors.

I was alone in the room. Now, at night, the shadows in the corners seemed longer. The light from above seemed to dim. And the balcony was, of course, open, but the air pressed against my skin, still and thick.

Taking a deep breath, I moved into the bedroom. My bag was on the floor next to the bed, and I bent over and rooted through it, finding my pajamas. Once I got them, I slipped out of the dress and into the sweatpants and two-sizes-too-big shirt.

I thought that dressing in human clothes would make me feel worse, or at the least emphasize the difference between me and this place. But instead, it replaced the tight knot in my gut with a dull ache that spread through my chest. I wasn't nervous, I wasn't angry, I wasn't scared... 

I was homesick.

Homesick for the big old manor in the middle of nowhere. Homesick for a garden that was blooming even in the dead of the winter. For the sound of two dogs racing across wooden floors, their nails scratching and clacking and their barks resounding through the halls. For hot chocolate and muffled giggles in a small kitchen. For the sound of piano duets floating through the house and the glint of marble-grey eyes and fire-red hair.

It's funny, how it only takes a moment for you to miss a lifetime.

I didn't realize that I had leaned against the bed post until I heard the door to the main room open, and I jolted upright with a shock.

Pulling a couple of bare breezes into my palm, I worked them up into a sphere of silver wind. I creeped towards the door of the bed chamber, took a breath, and darted out into the room.

Barton, Romanoff, and Rogers were standing around the table, three plain black bags resting on it. When I rushed in, all three settled into fighting stances out of pure reflex.

"Whoa!" I held up my hands. The ball of wind fizzled out into nothing. "Just me."

"Good." Romanoff lowered her fists and started going through one of the bags. The other two men recovered, and also turned to a black bag. I noticed that they all had changed back into Midgardian clothes, and that the clothes were all casual but the kind of casual that an agent would wear undercover- clothes that'd let you fight on a moment's notice.

"Uh..." I started, making my way towards them. "Shouldn't you all be in bed, asleep?"

"Shouldn't you?" Barton shot back, not taking his eyes off of the bag. He pulled out a mesh of string and wood or metal bands, inspecting it for damage or something. Romanoff, on the other hand, was extracting knife after knife after pistol after bigger pistol after knife from her bag.

"You've got four guards outside the front door and two by the servants' hallways," Rogers spoke up, looking me in the eye. "But no one's watching the balcony, and there's no telling who's friends with Ullr and who's just out for your blood."

"Wow, thanks for that lovely reminder," I muttered, crossing my arms. "And you three are here-"

"Because _some_ body's stupid butt decided to join a duel to the death," Barton replied in a far-too-cheerful tone. "And we'd like to make sure that the 'death' part doesn't get premature."

Barton flicked his hand out, and the contraption he was holding snapped into the shape of a composite bow. He set the bow down and pulled out a quiver full of arrows from the now-empty bag, and slung it over his back. 

Rogers, by some miracle, had fit his shield into his bag. He was double checking the straps on the inside, and fitting the magnetic glove over his left hand.

"Gale," Romanoff started as she started putting the various lethal weapons she had brought to Asgard in their proper holsters and places. "Clint and I have been assigned to countless protection details. And it's not like Steve just does coffee runs for SHIELD. We're staying the night to make sure nobody slits your throat while you sleep. Besides, Tony doesn't have an Iron Man suit, and Bruce really wants to avoid Hulking out in general. So get comfy."

Sighing, I sat down in the nearest chair. My head was beginning to pound, and I was painfully aware of my own heartbeat in my ears. Every rush of blood sent another jolt of discomfort through my skull.

"You alright?" Rogers frowned, noticing my wincing.

"Headache," I grimaced, rubbing my temples.

Romanoff looked briefly in her bag, and then tossed something small at me. "Here you go."

I caught the object, fumbling it a little. Holding it up to the light, I saw that it was a bottle of pain relief pills.

"Seriously?" I shook a couple out into my palm and then swallowed them dry. "Why'd you-"

"Barton's idea," Romanoff pointed to her partner, who was fiddling with his bowstring. "It's actually kinda weird. Usually we just give people headaches, not stock up on Advil."

Rogers gave a tiny chuckle. "You're still fifteen, Gale. We're not gonna just let you run around recklessly."

"Recklessly?" I raised my eyebrows. "Says the man who lied six times on his enlistment forms when a stiff breeze could've snapped him in half."

All three adults looked surprised. "Oh, come on," I rolled my eyes. "The Super-soldier from WWII has an entire chapter in our modern history books. You're quite the subject, according our historians."

"You've got your own history books?" Romanoff asked.

I nodded, tracing a circular pattern on the table with my fingertip. "There's a lot of events in the past that have been influenced by my people. But for the sake of our privacy, we've let humans come to their own conclusions. Like the Romanov murders."

"Romanov?" Rogers' head snapped up, looking at Romanoff with barely masked surprise.

"The royal family of Russia was killed in July of 1918," the female assassin replied, but frowned at me. "Your people murdered them?"

"Oh, good God, no," I shook my head. "The thing is... well, some blood lines fell out of the Teneo's reach. Families sprung about, not aware of our... abilities. Our gifts are dominant, but if they're ignored and repressed for generations, people can be born and die without ever discovering their powers. We try to find all of those outliers, though, and help them assimilate to our community."

Barton tilted his head. "What does that have to do with it?"

I grinned wryly at the adults. "They never found little Anastasia's body, did they?" Chuckling, I leaned back in my chair. "We protect our own, whether they want protection or not. Blood is blood. And there wouldn't've been a royal massacre at all if we'd've found out about the family sooner."

Suddenly, there was a loud bang that came from outside. I blinked in shock, and when I opened my eyes, Barton had already drawn an arrow and was out on the balcony. Romanoff had a pistol drawn, and Rogers was standing in front and to the left of her, shielding her from any fire from the balcony.

"Just fireworks," Barton called back, but didn't move. Neither did Romanoff or Rogers.

There was a heavy pause. "Okay." I groaned as another wave of pain cracked open in my skull. "I think- I- maybe-"

My nerves were frazzled to the point where I couldn't think straight. Stifling another noise of discomfort, I slid my head down my arms and onto the cool table surface.

"Alright, time for bed," Barton announced, coming back down from the balcony. "You need sleep."

"I'm-"

"If you say fine, I'm going to find one of my tranquilizer arrows and pull a repeat on our first meeting."

I shot the man a glare, but carefully stood up, my muscles creaking. Padding towards the bedroom, I passed by Barton, who made a slight step forward and with a moment of hesitation, gave me a light pat on the shoulder.

"Sweet dreams, featherweight," he muttered quietly, and went back to the balcony.

I stared at him for a second, but then shook my head lightly and went into the bedroom. I practically collapsed onto the boat-shaped bed, and snuggled under the soft blankets. The smell of old wood and autumn flowers filled the room, and I felt my eyes grow heavier. The lights were off, and I could barely make out the faint light coming under the door from the main room.

The ache was still in my chest, the one that made me feel homesick. Closing my eyes, I tried to sort out the thoughts in my head, to make sense of the chaos that was going on right now. Like how Alexei had shown me...

_"Again."_

_Thud._

_"Again."_

_Thud._

_"Again."_

_Thud._

_I hit the ground once more, the impact ringing in my chest. Gasping in shock, it took a moment for me to regain my breath. Groaning, I pushed myself upright again, the bits of rocks and pebbles pressing up into my bare feet._

_"Again," said the woman standing twenty feet away from me._

_We were in a grassy area, with no buildings around. A circle had been cleared of all obstructions, leaving naught but stone and dirt for us to stand on. Clouds overhead blocked out the sun, and the air cut through my thin clothes, but I ignored the cold. I had to._

_Gritting my teeth, I raised my hands. Wind swirled around me, still invisible, but there nonetheless. The man who was directly across from me settled into a defensive stance, green eyes fixed on my dark ones._

_Suddenly, he made a pushing motion forward, and a piece of the earth between us rose up and flew towards me._

_I flung out the winds I had gathered around me, but to no effect- the clump of rock and dirt slammed into my body, knocking me flat on my back._

_Thud._

_The woman sighed, staring at me critically. "Hén, you fail at even the most basic of tasks."_

_"I am not a child," I snapped angrily, shoving myself back upright. "I am twelve years of age."_

_"You are insolent," she said dismissively. "And stubborn. If you would let your pride-"_

_"My pride has nothing to do with it!" I cried out. All around me, every loose pebble and speck of dirt was blown backwards in a gust of sudden wind._

_"Focus!" The woman fired back. "And you might actually succeed at something!"_

_"Gah!" I threw my hands up in the air. "I can't focus when I am thrown to the ground every half-minute!"_

_"You would not be knocked off your feet if you did as you were told," the woman said disdainfully. "You have a legacy, Gale of the Teneo, as do all of us here. Use it."_

_Forcing down a bitter reply, I curled my hands into fists and raised them, a stance that almost mirrored the other man's._

_"No." The woman's voice cut through the air sharper than the wind. "That is his move. Yours is the air. You have that gift for a reason, hén."_

_I almost spat at her, but lowered my fists to my sides and slowly brought the winds back up._

_There wasn't even a second to gather myself before the rock hit my gut and made me double over, dry heaving until my throat burned._

_The woman sighed._

_"Again."_

Author's Note: Okay, so I'm sorry for the long pause. This was, as you can tell, a filler chapter because I've got basically no ideas for this little period of time until the death match. On a brighter note, though, I am taking ideas for memories. You know, like how this chapter ended. So if you've got an idea or anything, drop it in the comments and I'll see what I can do with it.


	25. Wow, thanks (yet another person bails on me in a time of need)

Well, needless to say...

Do I honestly have to start off each morning by remarking that I slept awfully (or not at all)?

If so, then reference all my previous rants. If not, then moving on.

When I dragged myself out of that ridiculously comfortable bed, there was light shining in through the door. My headache was gone, which was a complete relief. My stomach, though, was beginning to gnaw at me. Figures. As soon as Ullr showed up at the feast, I'd lost my appetite.

Stumbling out into the main room, I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the gunk out of them.

"Morning, sunshine," someone grunted.

Looking up, I saw Barton leaning against the wall near the balcony, his bow still clutched in one hand. Romanoff and Rogers were sitting at the table, obviously just pausing in a conversation they were having.

"Uh, morning," I muttered in reply. "Coffee?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Barton pointed to a ceramic pitcher on the table, a couple of plain mugs resting next to it. "Already checked for poison."

I nodded wearily, and padded over to the table and poured myself a mug. I stayed standing, and sipped the coffee. It actually wasn't half-bad. Sort of sweet, though, with a little taste of...

I instantly spat out what liquid was in my mouth, wiping my lips with the back of my free hand.

"What? What's wrong?" Romanoff immediately stood up and was halfway to where I stood before I held up a hand.

"Honey," I scowled at the mug. "They put honey in this. Blasphemy, I tell you. Sin. They're sinning."

"So you're fine?" Rogers asked.

"Uh-huh," I nodded, setting the mug back down on the table. "Milk, I can understand. Maybe even sugar if I'm sleep-deprived enough to not care. But honey- ugh."

"Good to know you've got your priorities straight." Barton rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, uh, speaking of priorities..." I frowned. "Have you guys been up all night? All of you?"

"Are you skidding me?" snorted Barton. "Ullr wants you dead, some Asgardians want you dead, other Asgardians want you stripped of your powers and exiled, and I'm pretty sure that if none of that was happening, I'd want to kill you too for being so utterly stupid as to agree to a death match."

"Okay, okay," I held up my hands. "Got it. Cool."

"So," started Romanoff. "What happens today?"

"Well, today is the start of _Lend na haer_ ," I shrugged. "So physical training for the next three days. Fun stuff."

" _Lend na haer_?" Rogers asked. "What language is that?"

" _Erui_ _lammen_ ," I answered. "It means 'first tongue' in English. It's sort of... how do I put this..."

I tilted my head, looking for the words. "Everything's got a name, right? The sky is the sky, green is green, a table is a table. So if everything's got a name, that means those names are part of a language. That means there's hundreds of languages with different names for everything in the world. My gifts, my... my soul that's split in two... what name is there for the thing that's inside of me? What language does the world speak when there's no one to put a name to it? That's what _erui lammen_ is. It's the first language of magic, and by extent, of this world."

All three adults had raised eyebrows.

"So like Dungeons & Dragons stuff." I rolled my eyes.

"Oh," Barton nodded in understanding. "Got it."

"Alright," I said, stretching my arms way above my head. "Time to actually start the day. What time is it?"

"Well, the sun is in the sky, so I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's day-time," Barton said casually. I gave him a glare.

"Fine, then. By all means, continue to be helpful." I turned around and headed back into my bedroom.

In my room, I started going through my bag of clothes again. Jeans, jeans, sweatpants, sweater, long-sleeved shirt- ugh, what was I thinking when I packed? Never mind. I'll just have to make do with what I've got.

Sweatpants... that would be good enough. Loose enough for movement. And a simple t-shirt, I guess. That was the best I had. Maybe I could track down that seamstress who fixed my dress for me last night...

God, last night. Was it really that close in the past? Sure didn't feel like it. Like how Christmas or Halloween or any holiday just seemed to disappear into memory as soon as the next morning came.

But I couldn't dwell on those thoughts. Not now. I didn't have the time nor the luxury. 

So I quickly changed out of my pajamas, and slipped on the pair of brown boots I had worn when we first arrived here in Asgard.

Slipping out of the bedroom, I went into the main room and headed for the door.

"Slow down, pipsqueak," Barton grumbled, slinging his bow over his shoulder. Romanoff and Rogers stood up from the table and followed the other man.

"I'd rather not waste time when I could be preparing for this _gurth coste_." I opened the doors and strode out into the hallway.

There were four guards standing outside of my room, all decked out in golden armor and weaponry. When I made my appearance, they stiffened up at attention.

"King Odin wasn't kidding," I muttered back to Barton as we walked down the hall, the guards trailing behind us Midgardians. It was like some sort of a bizarre parade.

"Four guards," Romanoff noted. "I could get past them in five minutes. Ullr could probably do it in three."

"Maybe Odin wants this match to end before it begins," muttered Barton darkly.

"Look, Birdbrain," I sighed impatiently, stopping in my tracks to face the man.

"Oh, we're back to the nicknames."

"I get that you're trying to keep me alive and everything, but this is Asgard, in case you haven't noticed. We're from Midgard. You, much less SHIELD, don't have any jurisdiction here whatsoever. Implying that the _king_ of this realm is trying to covertly sabotage any competitor's chances at an ancient duel with the strictest of rules is called _treason_. That will get _all_ of us killed. This isn't New York, Barton. You can't stick an electric arrow in someone and call it justified."

I snorted, crossing my arms. "This isn't your fight. It's mine. For all our sakes, _maethor_ , don't interfere."

With that, I turned back around and strode down the hallway at a quicker pace, wiggling my fingers a bit, warming them up. "Guards!" I raised my voice. "Which way to the training arena?"

"This way, my lady," one of the female guards sped up to my position, and veered to the left.

Thankfully, Barton nor Romanoff or Rogers spoke up again- at least, to me. I could hear the barest traces of a whispered conversation between the three adults as they dropped back behind the guards, but I didn't bother to use a wind and listen in on them.

The guard led us through a series of hallways that eventually accumulated more and more windows, letting daylight stream through and making the walls glisten gold. 

"Right this way, my lady," the guard said politely as she held open a thick wooden door that stood at the end of one of the halls.

I entered onto a small stone pathway, just wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The sun was shining overhead, with no roof or ceiling to block it. Just ahead, there was a huge circle of dirt, packed down firmly by the countless feet, and dry and bleached the color of sand by the sunlight. Braziers of fire crackled around the training circle. 

Stone walls surrounded the area, making it like a courtyard of some sort. Open arches in the walls allowed guards to come and go, and speaking of guards, there were at least ten or so standing at attention around the stone pathway. 

"Will this be adequate, my lady?" The guard who led me here asked, drawing me back into the present. "It was suggested that a more private area would be suitable to your needs."

"Uh, yeah." I nodded quickly. "This'll do just fine."

"If you need anything, simply ask, my lady." The female guard stepped back and stood by the side of the door, settling into position.

"Holy _amil -o ilya_ ," I said under my breath. "An actual training area."

"What were you expecting, kid?" Barton's voice came up from behind me. I stifled a groan, but bit back my usual sarcastic response.

"I was taught how to use my legacy in the middle of the countryside," I muttered. "We were lucky if there was an old shed somewhere to work with. Not padded dirt, stone walkways, and braziers."

"Your childhood sounds sadder and sadder the more you talk about it," Barton noted, standing on my right.

"So what do you do now?' Rogers asked.

"Well," I started. "I'd rather you not be here."

"Excuse me?" Romanoff said. I glanced back at her, only to see a very skeptical look on her face.

"If you see me fight- _really_ fight, not dodging and running away- then you'll just report back to SHIELD," I explained. "So please leave. Go find Stark and Dr. Banner."

"If you honestly think-" Barton scoffed.

"Guards?" I called loudly. "Please show these other Midgardians to their remaining companions."

In a second, six guards has appeared at the elbows of the three adults, and began firmly leading them back into the hallway.

"Dirty move, Gale, dirty move," Barton grumbled. "Get your hands off of me, goldie," he crossly muttered to one of the guards. In a minute, though, it was just me and the remaining guards left in the courtyard.

I let out a deep breath. Good. 

Did I feel bad about giving my companions the boot like that? No, not really. They _would_ tell SHIELD, after all. That's where their loyalties lay, I knew that much. But there was another reason too, as to why I made them leave...

Asgardians were resilient. Toss a car and them and they'll throw it right back. Humans just break too easily. If I was really going to train for this death match- and I mean _really train_ \- then I didn't want to run the risk of hurting someone who might not get back up.

I stepped forward and onto the dirt, looking over my surroundings once more. This place was big enough to have six, maybe seven people fighting in it with enough room to move around. But with just me, it seemed a lot bigger.

"Gale!" Thor's voice called out. I looked to my left and saw him striding through one of the archways, dressed out in his usual armor.

"Thor," I greeted him, clasping my hands behind my back. "What brings you here?"

"This is her?" A woman's cool voice came from the same archway Thor had came from.

Leaning against the stone was a tall woman, dressed in silver and red armor. A small buckler- a kind of shield- was slung on her back, and I could see what looked like a sword handle sticking up above it. The woman's dark hair was loose, hanging over her shoulders and down the front. She was staring at me, studying me, taking in my appearance.

"Ah, yes, introductions," Thor took a step to the side, so the woman and I could have a clear line of sight between us. "Sif, this is Gale. Gale, this is Lady Sif, one of my closest friends and one of the best warriors in all of Asgard."

"She's tiny," Sif tilted her head, not moving.

"Which is why Thor offered to contact you about helping me prepare for the _gurth coste_ ," I replied evenly. "If you would be willing, that is."

"Ullr," Sif started, slowly walking down the stone pathway to the dirt and standing directly in front of me, arms crossed. "Is my cousin. To hear of his transgressions was... unsettling."

"I know," Thor cut in. "And I thought that since you know him so well, you'd be able to show Gale-"

"She can speak for herself," Sif interrupted. "Or maybe her _heritage_ prevents that."

Thor was silent, eyebrows raised in shock. I suppose Sif wasn't usually this cold towards strangers.

But I lowered my eyes, placed my right fist over my heart, and bowed slightly to the woman. "I apologize for anything I had said or done, Lady Sif. My intent is not disrespect or insult."

"Hmph." Sif sounded a little different. Surprised. "You have manners."

"I was raised with the expectation of politeness towards my betters," I replied, straightening up and looking Sif in the eye. "I do not wish to fight Ullr. And I understand if you do not aid me in preparation for the match."

Thor looked between us two, obviously uncertain of what to say or how to proceed.

"You are... how many years?" Sif asked me.

"Fifteen."

"A child," she scoffed lightly, and looked back at Thor. "You want me to train a child to die in a death match."

"I do have other talents that do not rely on my size," I added, a bit miffed. "And I am not a child-"

"You will be killed in less than a minute," Sif told me frankly. "Ullr is the god of duels. He knows exactly how to end his opponent, whether they be human or Asgardian."

"I am neither of those things."

Sif's eyes narrowed at me, calculating and honestly a little frightening. "So you say."

She suddenly reached back over her shoulder with one hand and drew her sword. Sif swung it forward, a silver blade slid out with insane speed, whipping out at my neck.

I dropped to my knees and rolled to the side, popping back up as soon as I was clear. Raising my hands, I summoned the winds around me. They immediately responded, swirling around me, invisible.

Sif hadn't moved, her sword still held perfectly level in the place where my head was a second ago. And she was... grinning?

"You're not completely hopeless," she admitted.

"Sif!" Thor stepped forward towards his friend, voice low in warning.

"If she cannot avoid a blade, she might as well throw herself off her balcony and save Ullr the trouble of cutting out her heart," Sif said calmly. "And I believe that would hurt more."

"So that was a pop-quiz in Dueling 101, I take it," I said carefully, letting the winds die down but still maintain their presence.

Sif looked back at me. "What is your previous training?"

"Uh..." I tried to find the words. "Intense. Do or die. Survival of the fittest. Weed out the weak. That kinda stuff."

"So no formal approach to fighting," Sif summed up.

"Not really, no. But concerning my legacy-"

"Thor." Sif halted me in the middle of my sentence. "I believe you can take a seat on the outer edge of the training circle. That is, if you would prefer to watch."

Thor looked a bit taken aback, but moved to the sidelines and stood near the guards, who were trying to look disinterested but were sneaking glances at me and Sif.

"So you will help me?" I couldn't keep the slight hope out of my voice.

"Help," Sif repeated. "Not guarantee your death will take longer."

"Optimism," I mused. "Nice."

"Now," Sif said in a sharp voice, "you mentioned your legacy. Explain to me what it is."

"It's... well... the wind. I can control it, shape it, make it do my bidding. Sharpen it, flatten it, make it become visible- like silver threads. When I use it for something non-mundane, marks appear on my skin. And when I'm not hindered by injuries or other means, I can fly. But I haven't done that in months."

"What about creating it?" Sif asked, her dark green eyes glinting in the sun.

I chuckled. "That's... it's nearly impossible. I can take what's present and amplify it, but it's like the rules of matter: you can't make something from nothing. To start a breeze in a windless place would feed on myself rather than the environment around me. I managed to do it once, though. Moved a piece of paper three inches and was vomiting for a week."

"So you know evasive maneuvers. What about offense?" 

"Oh, uh," I rubbed the back of my neck. "I'm actually all about offense if I have to fight. It's just... there's really no practicing with it. I'll end up hurting someone."

"Good," Sif adjusted her grip on her sword. "That's what a fight is about."

She swung at me again without warning, and I leaped backwards, keeping on my toes.

"No dodging," Sif remarked calmly as she began striding towards me. "You can't run from Ullr."

"Seriously," I grunted as her sword came an inch from my nose. "I know I can't run but that doesn't mean I can't-"

The other end of Sif's sword whipped around, and- you guessed it- there was another lethal blade waiting to slice me open like a turkey on Thanksgiving.

There was a brief flash of pain, and then I felt something warm trickle down my cheek. Glaring at Sif, who looked completely unaffected by what just happened, I curled my fingers.

With a slicing motion, I threw a wind at Sif, dulling it slightly. She stumbled back a couple steps, but regained her footing quickly.

"You'll have to do better than that," she chastised me. "A bit of air will not hurt anyone."

Frowning, I raised my arms. Reaching out mentally, I touched every wind that was near me, simply making sure it was there and checking their strength and direction. South wind. That meant heat. Which meant...

I side-stepped another attack from Sif, who looked like she was on a walk in the park, and let out a short breath. Focusing on the heat, I gathered the south breezes and forced them to fold into each other. A silver mesh appeared in front of me, writhing and trying to break free of the hold I had on it.

Launching it at Sif, I immediately crossed my arms in front of my face, and took the remaining wind and spread in sort of a thin shield in front of me. 

The sphere of wind hit Sif and burst open. Sif let out a cry as a wave of heat emanated out like a blast. She bent over, covering the bare skin on her face with her arms. 

The flimsy wind-shield I'd thrown up for protection evaporated, and I straightened up with a little grin. My skin was glinting with the hints of the wind-marks, curling around my fingers and down towards my elbows.

"A bit of _hot_ air definitely hurts anyone," I said, bit smugly.

Sif went out of her defensive position as soon as she realized the attack was over. She gave me a grudgingly praiseful nod. "Altering the wind, I assume, falls under your capabilities."

Sif sheathed her sword on her back, the blades retracted, and walked over to a low stone bench that was on the edge of the dirt circle. I curiously followed her.

There were several blades lined up on the bench, ranging from short-swords to broadswords to fencing rapiers. Sif ran her hands over each one, looking them over.

"Hold your arms out," Sif instructed me. 

I did as she said, putting my arms straight in front of me. As Sif examined me, poking my muscles a little, I saw a dark bird fly down from the sky and perch on the stone wall, eyeing me carefully.

"Not much here," she mused. I repressed the urge to roll my eyes. "You're lean, but not bulky. Not used to fighting- not directly, anyway."

Sif picked up a short-sword from the bench and handed it to me, leather grip first. I grasped it, my arm dipping from the unexpected weight. It felt a little clumsy in my hand, but I thought that was to be expected.

"Ever wield a sword before, child?" she asked me.

"No," I admitted. "But I'm not a child-"

"Gale, then," Sif relented. "So you have no _actual_ training with blades, and you still accepted Ullr's challenge."

"I've got my legacy," I muttered indignantly. "I'm not completely powerless."

"Ullr gave your people their abilities, correct? Then he will know how to fight them."

Sif tossed a small strip of fabric at me, one that I hastily caught before it touched the ground. "For your hair," Sif elaborated. "It'll only get in your way while you train."

"But yours is down," I replied as I began quickly braiding my hair back, tying it off with the cloth.

"Gale," chuckled Sif. "I have been alive for more than a thousand years. I am used to my hair blowing about while I fight. You are fifteen. You are not."

"Fair point," I conceded. "So... we starting now or what?"

"Let's try a basic parry." Sif unsheathed her sword once more, and only one of the blades slid out. "Just try to block the blow."

She swung downwards at my head, and I had just enough time to raise the short-sword perpendicular to it and stop my brain from being split in two.

The impact shuddered all the way down the sword and through my arm, making my bones vibrate in a really unpleasant fashion. I took half a step back in reflex, and then Sif took her sword back and swung at my right side. I sidestepped, still recovering from the first hit.

"Block the attack," Sif reprimanded me. "Don't dodge. Defend."

"It's a bit harder than it looks," I gritted my teeth, parrying a third slice. The fourth, though, landed on chest. For a second I thought I was a goner and that Sif was on Ullr's side of the battle, but when my guts didn't start spilling out of my, I realized that the flat of her blade had smacked harshly against my ribs.

Sucking in a breath, I winced as my side immediately protested. Great. Two minutes in and I'm already injured.

"A child could do better than this," Sif told me, giving me a no-nonsense look. "Try again."

In a foolish moment of thinking, my mind connected the dots between Sif attacking and me holding a sword in my hands. I took a step forward and swung at her neck with all the force I could muster at the moment.

There was a crash of metal on metal, a force pressing on me from the front, and then an impact that rattled through my body.

_Thud_.

I was staring up at the sky, blue and blank. Sif was standing over me, one of her metal-clad boots pinning my short-sword to the ground a couple feet away from me. She was staring down at me, dark eyes sparkling with a sort of frightening amusement, like an eagle about to snatch a hare.

"Maybe you aren't so helpless," Sif mused. I stared back at her, my own eyes wide from the shock of hitting the ground and confusion.

I grunted in reply, resting my head back on the packed dirt for a second. My entire torso was aching, my cheek was still bleeding, and my breakfast was doing gymnastics in my stomach.

Sif sighed, took her boot off of the sword, and gestured for me to get up.

_"Again_."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Argh!" I cried in frustration as my sword refused to move quick enough and Sif's blade cut open a thin line on the back of my thigh.

"Try, Gale, and you might not get hurt!" Sif shot back at me, drawing her sword back into a ready position.

"I _am_! It's just- how can you expect me to be perfect at swordplay when I first _touched_ one seven hours ago- and we haven't even stopped for lunch-"

"The match is four days from tomorrow. Ullr will _not_ be holding back, I can assure you of that."

"So then-" I sloppily parried another blow aimed at me side, "-why are you- _Jesus!_ "

Sif had just nimbly stepped around my basic backhand attack, moved behind me, and rammed her shoulder into my back. I went stumbling forward several steps, my feet dragging in the dirt and sending up plumes of dust. I coughed, expelling the powder from my lungs.

"Not fair!" I glared at the woman, who wasn't even breathing hard. I, on the other hand, was just about ready to drop dead. The afternoon sun was beating relentlessly down on my back, making my clothes stick to me with sweat. In fact, I was pretty sure I was starting to hallucinate, because the dark feathered bird sitting on the stone wall had an almost intelligent gleam in its eyes. And it looked like it was watching me. Ugh. Creepy.

"Ullr will not be fair." Sif told me coldly, no trace left of humor. "You cannot beat an irrational force by being rational. You cannot fight him outside the box if you fight by rules."

"Then tell me how to beat him!" I threw my arms up, the short-sword swinging heavily in my grip.

"You are a child!" Sif raised her voice. "Ullr is a god! Even I cannot beat him without fighting unfairly. What hope do you have, _Gale_?"

"I have no hope!" I shouted at her. The guards, who were still standing dutifully around the training circle, shifted uncertainly. Sif herself even looked a little taken aback.

"I have no hope," I repeated, almost growling the words. "I lost my hope when I was eight years old. All I have, _Lady Sif_ , is determination. Hope is a vulnerability. Determination is a motivation. And that is why I will fight until I die doing so, whether that be in four days or four years."

Sif stared at me, expression unreadable. The only movement around us were the curls of dust still settling down through to air to rest on the ground.

Then the woman finally spoke. "The sword is not your weapon," Sif said with a carefully level tone. "I cannot train you well enough with it in three days. You must find another method of fighting more suited to... your body and mind-set."

With that, Sif sheathed her sword, her muscles loosening up a bit. "I would consider a smaller kind of blade. Perhaps daggers will appeal more to you. Unfortunately, I am no teacher for that style of combat."

Thor, who had been watching the entire training session unfold from the walkway, took a step forward. With a jolt, I realized that he was actually still here.

"Sif," Thor began, his usually cheerful face drawn with confusion. "Perhaps-"

"My work here is finished." Sif spoke quietly, looking the prince straight in the eye as she walked towards the open archways in the stone wall that surrounded the courtyard. "I wish you luck in the duel, Gale."

And then Sif had gone.

I set the short-sword down on the stone bench, probably a bit harder than I should've. I angrily made my way towards the door that led back into the palace.

"Gale," Thor began as I neared him. "I'm sure that-"

"Save it, Thor," I interrupted him, and strode through the door and into the halls full of windows and light and gold.

I marched down the corridor, with no particular direction.

"Stupid swords, stupid sun, stupid fighting-" I muttered, passing a pair of guards who were walking the opposite direction.

"Hey! You two!" I stopped them. They both snapped to attention.

"Yes, Lady Gale?" One of them asked, sounding slightly frightened.

"Where's the kitchen?" I demanded. "I need food. Now."

"Right this way, my lady," the guard replied, and pointed to my left. 

"Then lead the way," I sarcastically replied. The two guards immediately began walking in that direction at a fast pace, and I hurried to follow them.

In two minutes, they had come to a halt in front of a pair of huge wooden doors. The guards held one of them open for me, and I quickly ducked inside.

It was a big room, full of tables and open fires and mostly obscured with steam, so it was hard to make out anything specifically. Several people were running about, carrying trays and bowls and buckets, calling out to each other at rapid-fire speed.

I tapped on the shoulder of one of the people scurrying around.

"What do you what, you insolent serving girl-" The person- a chef, I realized, they were wearing an apron and carried themselves importantly- broke their sentence off as soon as they got a good look at my face. "Oh my Bor! I'm so sorry, m'lady, forgive me, I didn't see-"

"It's cool," I waved off the chef's stumbling apology. "Any chance you've got some extra scraps lying around? My lunch break got cut."

"Of course, of course," they hastily replied. Looking over their shoulder, they called out to the general public. "Any open hand! Quick!"

A serving boy appeared at my elbow like magic, holding a wooden basket with a brown cloth laid down on the bottom. "Yes, my lady?"

"Assist Lady Gale in obtaining a suitable meal," the chef ordered the boy before giving me a respectful bow and hurrying off once more.

"So the kitchen staff knows my name now," I said offhandedly, turning to the serving boy, who was about my age in appearance (so, like, five hundred actual years old or something).

"Beg pardon, my lady," the boy said quietly. "But everyone knows your name. After yesterday's feast, the _gurth coste_ is all anyone can talk about."

"You're siding with Ullr, I expect," I sighed. "Asgardians defend Asgardians."

"Actually, if you don't mind me saying..." the boy said awkwardly. "I think you were brave, coming out with the truth in front of everyone. Ullr's nice to everybody who he thinks is useful. People like me- servants, that is, my lady- are expendable. Ullr sends one away and another takes their place. Nobles like Ullr. We don't."

I stared blatantly at the boy, who grew increasingly more uncomfortable.

"I apologize for any-" the boy blurted out.

"Dude," I started. "You've made it to my list of favorite Asgardians. Tied for first place with Heimdall. Congrats."

"Thank you?" He said, obviously confused. "But my name is not Dude."

"I know, it's just a-" I sighed. "Midgardian thing. So what is it?"

"Aaric, my lady." The boy gave me a polite bow. "Aaric Erikson."

"Well, then, Aaric Erikson," I straightened up, ignoring the ache coming from the general direction of my entire body. "If you so much as put a single potato in that basket, I will hang you upside-down from the edge of the Bifrost."

Aaric gulped.

"I'm joking," I rolled my eyes. "Got any soup?"

Ten minutes, three smacks upside the head, four orders to get out of the way, and a flying dinner roll later, I was standing outside of the kitchen with the wooden basket in my hands.

"Farewell, my lady," Aaric gave me a tiny smile and a bow.

I gave him a thumbs up, seeing as I had stuffed a piece of bread inside my mouth. Aaric then vanished back inside the kitchen.

"My lady," a guard spoke from behind me.

" _He-thahth!_ " I nearly spit out the food in my mouth. " _Jesus!_ " I repeated once I had swallowed. "You guys are still here?"

The two guards that had led me to the kitchen shared an uncertain glance between them. "Yes, my lady, we were instructed that you are not to be left alone-"

I groaned as the impact of their words hit me. "Seriously? It's not bad enough that I get my butt handed to me on a silver platter during sword training, but now I've got _Asgardian_ stalkers too?!"

"Excuse me," a female voice came from my right.

Looking over there, I saw Queen Frigga striding towards us, clad in a magnificent purple dress that made her look like a goddess. I mean, dang, Midgardian apparel for women either didn't have pockets or tore under the slightest stress. I needed Queen Frigga's seamstress's number.

"My queen!" Both guards stiffened.

"At ease, guards," Queen Frigga waved a hand. She fixed her gaze on me. "My son tells me that your training session... did not fare well."

"That is an understatement," I commented. "But yes."

"Guards, return to your posts," the queen ordered the two guards.

"But my queen, our instructions-"

"If Gale is to be attacked, I am quite sure she can hold her own. Ullr would not dare to violate the rules of the _gurth coste_ when his own honor is under scrutiny," Queen Frigga dismissed. "Leave us."

"Yes, Queen Frigga." The two guards bowed to her in unison, and then moved quickly down the hallway.

"Gale," Queen Frigga started, as soon as the guards were out of sight. "I find that when frustration takes hold in my life, a walk usually helps."

"Um," I frowned. "Thank you, Queen Frigga, but I don't believe that a walk is going to grant me magical powers that let me wield a sword."

"Thor mentioned that the lady Sif recommended daggers as a substitute," continued Queen Frigga. "I believe that is a commendable course of action."

"I appreciate your input, but Sif said she couldn't train me with daggers. And any other warrior who _can_ probably is sympathetic towards Ullr," I grumbled.

"I know." Queen Frigga looked at me with an almost conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "I strongly suggest a walk to clear your mind, Gale. The lower levels are quiet at all times of the day, and well suited for solitary actions. The guards, as well, will be instructed to leave you on your alone. I do know how their presence creates an almost... claustrophobic air."

"Uh..." I said, quite intelligently.

"I wish you luck, Gale, in the hopes you will find what you are looking for." And with that cryptic goodbye, Queen Frigga gave me a tiny nod and swept off in the other direction like a cloud of purple-clad mystery.

"Okay, then." I spoke out loud, just standing alone in the hallway.

Well, there wasn't anything else I was doing at the moment. No more training with Sif. My body was littered with cuts and bruises all over, so just going up to a guard and demanding a practice duel was out of the question. And I had food. Lots of food. And no potatoes.

So I walked down the hallway in the direction that Queen Frigga had gone, and headed through the grand hallways. I honestly had no idea where I was going, but Queen Frigga said something about the lower levels, so... down?

Eventually, I found staircase tucked into a side-corridor. Finally. Making my way down the stone steps, I felt the air around me grow colder and damper, and crackling torches began to replace windows.

Then I took a step downwards and landed on my ankle funny, and a bolt of pain shot up my leg.

"Ah _\---_ " I swore loudly as I lost my balance and crashed into the wall on my right. Figures. I had fallen so many times during training that it was a miracle I wasn't in a wheelchair- again.

"Screw Sif," I muttered, regaining my balance and limping down the remaining steps. "Screw Ullr, screw death matches, screw swords, screw Midgard, screw SHIELD, screw this, screw that, screw you, screw me-"

At the end of the staircase, the passageway took a sharp right, and I was still mouthing off at every single thing that had ever annoyed or mildly irritated me.

"Screw taxes, screw potatoes, screw the NSA, screw electric arrows, screw five-minute showers, screw-"

I suddenly came out into a large room, stretching forward for an insanely long time. A pair of guards was standing in front of me, obviously a bit confused as to my appearance.

Oh yeah, and then there were the prison cells.

The cells didn't even have doors. Blank white surfaces made up the walls on the inside, and a golden shine lined the open side. I could see patterns of knots and runes in the gold, wavering slightly in the dim light. There wasn't a lot of furniture in the cells, maybe a cot or two, and empty meal plates.

Inside the cells were a bunch of tough-looking people, covered in dirt and tattered clothes. Scars and brands seemed to be a common theme among them, and speaking of similarities...

Everyone was looking at me.

"State your business," one of the guards said gruffly, adjusting the grip on his very non-ceremonial spear.

"Um," I said, my voice squeakier than I would've liked. "Queen Frigga suggested a walk to the lower levels, and I sort of agreed..."

Immediately, the two guards eased up. "Lady Gale," the first one greeted me. "The queen mentioned you would be coming. You are welcome to stay as long as you remain within sight. Refrain from touching the cells. If you require assistance with anything, all you need do is-"

"Ask," I finished. "Yes, every guard is very keen to tell me that. You wouldn't happen to have a magical sword that can do all the fighting for me by any chance, would you?"

The guards stared.

"It was worth a shot," I muttered. Looking around, I saw an empty corner directly on my left, nestled against the wall before the row of cells started. Walking over there, I sat down with a grunt, placing the basket of food in front me.

"Aw, yeah," I grinned as I pulled out a small bowl of soup and a wooden spoon. I tasted a bit of the soup, testing out the seasonings of it. I nearly died of joy when I tasted roast beef and carrots. "Beautiful. Pure poetry."

I wasn't paying much attention to what was happening around me while I savored the soup. Honestly, I was on the verge of kidnapping the entire kitchen staff and taking them back to Midgard with me.

Someone cleared their throat lightly.

Frowning, I looked over to the guards, who hadn't moved. Shrugging, I went back to the soup.

The same noise came again.

I said up straighter, this time peering down the central corridor. No other guards there. 

Then someone spoke, in a smooth and clear tone that came from the cell directly in front of me. It didn't sound like a warrior, or a savage, or anyone that you'd find in a prison.

"Now, I don't believe that I've seen you here before. Tell me, why does a human girl come to the dungeons on suggestion of the queen when her scorned son is waiting there?


	26. Queen Frigga is too awesome for this world

"Excuse me?" I frowned, staring straight ahead at the cell in front of me.

A man was sitting down, leaning against the back wall of the cell, only two or three feet from the transparent barrier. He had hair as dark as my own, about shoulder length. And, unlike the other prisoners, he was dressed nicely- green tunic, darker breeches and boots, and a sort of leather vest. A small cloth-bound book was in his hands, and the man was looking down at it as if he'd been sitting there hours, despite having just spoken out to me.

"Humans are born with functioning ears, yes?" He said in an almost bored tone of voice, idly flipping a page. "I do not believe yours are damaged."

"Oh, you're smart," I rolled my eyes, and went back to my soup.

"Yes, that is how humans perceive most Asgardians," the man replied. "However, upon closer examination-"

"Most of them are traditionalists, half of them think that humans are stupid or amusing pests, some of them want to cut off all contact with Midgard, and a few want my head," I finished. "Yeah, I got the memo already."

The man finally looked up at me, green eyes glinting in the golden reflection of the light. "Who are you, child?"

"Not that," I replied promptly, and shoved half of a dinner roll in my mouth.

"Are you the offspring of one of the heroes?" The man asked, obviously hoping I was not.

"I'm tempted to say yes, just to watch you freak out or something," I tilted my head, looking back up at the man. "But, alas, I'm not. Romanoff- sadly, no. Rogers- I'm not even American. Dr. Banner- the whole 'inner beast' thing is creditable, but I don't like science. Stark- the thought makes me vomit. Thor- just no. And last and somewhat least least, Barton- and if that were true, I'd shoot myself with an electric arrow."

"You are familiar with the heroes?"

"If by familiar, you mean knocked unconscious and kidnapped, then yes," I finished off the last of the soup. "I take it you know them too."

The man rolled his eyes. "The beast threw me into a floor."

"Really?" I crinkled my nose. "Then-" My face went slack with understanding. "That means you're... Loki."

"Yes, indeed." The god of lies set the book down on his lap and spread his arms in a grand gesture. "Impressed? Astounded? Overcome with awe?"

I made a face. "I thought you'd be more... handsome."

Loki paused, brief confusion flickering over his face. "Pardon?"

"I mean, Thor's got the whole chiseled jaw, crystal blue eyes, blond hair thing going on," I motioned to my own face. "You have the cheekbone, pale skin, dark-haired-beauty gig happening. Pretty, I guess. Not particularly handsome."

"Insolent child," Loki said with a light scoff, obviously not thinking kind thoughts in my direction, and picked his book back up.

I shrugged, and finished off the last of my lunch. A low hum was the only sound in the room, that I think was coming from the magical cell barriers. Other than that, nobody was speaking- not even the guards.

Okay, I had to admit, it was actually kinda nice in here. I mean, sure, there were several dangerous convicts in the immediate vicinity, but it was quiet and the air was cool and nice. And it wasn't overly bright and shining with gold, which certainly helped my eyes after being in the hot sun for seven hours straight.

Speaking of which... Jeez, I was aching all over. I'm pretty sure I had at least a dozen bruises already from the countless number of times that I was knocked down or hit with the flat of a sword. Tiny cuts littered my limbs; luckily, the one on my face had dried, but it pulled each time I moved my face. If I had any hope of continuing this training thing tomorrow, I needed to do something about my injuries... something fast, something I was, to some degree, comfortable with...

I leaned forward from where I was resting my back against the wall, and crossed my legs neatly. Sitting up straight, I took in a deep breath. I wiggled around a bit too, letting my weight find its natural center.

"Excuse me," I called out to the two guards nearby. "But do you mind if it gets a little windy in here?"

The guards, obviously confused, took a moment to whisper to each other, and then shook their heads. I could tell, however, that they were paying closer attention to me now. Didn't matter, though.

"Perfect," I murmured under my breath, and closed my eyes.

I held my hands out in front of me, palms facing inwards as if I were holding a ball or the like above my lap. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out.

Breath in... breath out...

Breath in...

Breath out...

The air grew colder around me. I felt the familiar tickle of breezes sliding over my skin, down my shoulders and to my hands. Pressure began to build up between my palms, pushing and shoving, ebbing and flowing and writhing within the limits I allowed it. 

Breath in...

Breath out...

_Control._

Alexei's voice echoed in the back of my mind, the memory of a warm fire and cool cobblestones slowly rising in tandem. Hair the color of wind and eyes as dark as my own. A breeze skittering over the floor with a rasp like leaves rubbing together.

_Control, Gale, is everything. Without control, you cannot use your legacy._

_Well, you could, but there would be no guarantee that it would be safe. And safety, Gale, is the current priority for you._

_Control._

_Breath in, breath out._

Breath in, breath out.

_Count to seven._

Count to seven.

_Search for what is already there, for the winds that have the barest of movements but still exist. Look for the things you cannot see._

Look for the things you cannot see.

_And remember, Gale..._

_We are what we make ourselves._

I am what I make myself.

There is wind inside of me, holding my soul together. I am made of wind. It runs in my blood, in my lungs, in my mind. It can hurt, and it can heal.

_Heal._

Heal.

The mesh of wind between my hands unraveled smoothly, running down my wrists like cool water and covering my skin in the soft pulse of air. It flowed up my shoulders, tipped over and ran down my back, and wandered across my chest. The wind spread to my legs, still ebbing, still pulsing. Until, finally, it trickled up my neck and made my hair rustle, and painted the back of my eyelids silver.

Everywhere the wind touched, I felt a surge of... connection. Like an extra set of nerves that was linking the pieces of me together.

And slowly, very slowly, I focused on one of the bruises on my back. The cold intensified there, and I felt the ache begin to ease. It took a while- nearly three minutes- but I got it to the point where I could barely feel it. So I moved on to the next injury, to the next ache, and then the next, and the one after that, and the one after that one.

There wasn't a day that went by that I wasn't grateful for this trick. Alexei really was a fantastic teacher, and even though I wasn't made at all for mending, or healing or whatever you wanted to call it, thanks to his lessons I had gotten myself out of a few metaphorical scrapes and more than a few literal ones.

But now the winds were growing tired, and I had to push to keep them circulating. It would have to do for now.

So, very carefully, I let the winds back into the air. They immediately dissipated, dissolving into the darkness of the prison. But it didn't feel that peaceful to me. It was like someone had just ripped a bandage off of my bare skin. The shock alone was enough to make me open my eyes.

My eyes didn't adjust for a couple seconds. I had to blink several times to restore color to the world- everything kept trying to revert back to shades of black and white and grey. And the air seemed stale and stagnant, like damp tissues. But eventually, I was back to what passed for normal with me.

"That was rather peculiar."

Loki's voice made my head snap upright.

He had moved from his last position and was no longer reading his book. Instead, the man was standing straight up, hands lightly clasped behind his back. And he was looking at me- no, analyzing me.

"You-" I halted, the sound of my voice suddenly abrasive to my ears. "You were watching?"

"Well, it wasn't exactly easy to ignore," Loki said in a disinterested tone. "Though I doubt the guards nor the prisoners noticed what you were doing."

"And you did?" I snorted, uncrossing my legs and leaning back against the wall. I had to look upwards to talk to Loki, and I knew that he was standing only because it displayed confidence and was supposed to intimidate me, I guess, but I was okay with that. The more people underestimated me, the harder they fell.

"I am gifted with a higher training than the common underling," Loki sniffed. "I know magic when I see it. And yours," -the cunning glint in his eyes was back- "is very strange."

"Wow." I began to clap, slow and sarcastic. "Call Oprah, we've got a genius in the making."

"You are human," Loki mused. "And possess magic of Asgardian proportions. I am curious to say the least."

"Wait a sec-" I frowned. "Oh... _oh_... right, right. You weren't at the feast. I take it nobody's given you the scoop on what went down?"

Loki tilted his head, looking a trifle bit confused. "No one usually visits a criminal."

"Ah." I nodded. "Got it. I'll save you the trouble: Ullr screwed up and gave some humans Asgardian powers a couple thousand years ago. I'm descended from one of those humans, hence my abilities, and- oh yeah! Ullr challenged me to a _gurth coste_ and I accepted. So there's that."

Loki was staring.

"Yeah, that's what everybody else did too."

"You are..."

"Human with Asgardian abilities. Seriously, I mean, I've had to explain that to a dozen people at least a hundred times each/ What's so hard to get?"

Loki's eyes flickered down my my body. "Your injuries are gone. You are a healer?"

I stood up, bringing the height difference between us down a bit. Lazily, I began stretching, my muscles already starting to seize up with the exertion of using my legacy in the specific capacity I'd been using it in.

"Sort of." I grunted, raising my arms above my head stiffly. "It's called mending. Healing is using medicine and things that the average body uses to fix itself. Mending- well, to put it in a simplified version- it uses our legacies, and fixes our bodies with what's inside of us, but not human."

I gave Loki a calculating look. "You don't seem like a healer to me. Why the curiosity?"

"You mentioned Ullr was the one to challenge you," Loki shrugged lightly. "If you are capable of... _mending_... yourself, then you stand a greater chance of causing him injury in the _gurth coste_."

"No love lost between you two, huh?"

"He considers himself an expert at a certain type of magic, one that differs greatly from my own." A bit of bitterness seeped into Loki's voice. "Ullr is fond of making fools of those he considers lesser than him. My magic is more subtle, more refined. Needless to say... _conflict_ often arises when we are in proximity to each other."

"So I can mark the God of Trickery as 'Not Wanting My Head On A Stick'," I mused. "I've got you, the other prince, maybe Sif but I'm not too sure yet, the queen, and the kitchen staff. This is going to be an _awesome_ week."

"The queen?" Loki repeated, a bit more interested now.

"Yeah," I nodded. "We had a nice chat. She even... _oh_." I sighed in understanding. "That's what she meant."

"And that was...?"

"She said that my answers to her inquiries were cleverly worded, and that I would get along well with her son. I thought she was talking about Thor, but I guess she really meant you."

We both stared, sizing each other up.

"I assume," Loki broke the silence, switching topics. "That your days of physical preparation have begun."

I let out a short laugh. "Yeah, they have. But I highly doubt that I'm gonna get anywhere with that."

"And why is that? Have you accepted your inevitable demise at the hands of your adversary?"

I gave the man a look. "Not helping, you know." I sighed, and stopped stretching. "Sif can't help me, which was one of the things I was counting on. I can't wield a sword to save my life- _literally_ , mind you- and the only thing she told me was to try out daggers or something that more suited to my 'body type'."

"Well, I highly doubt you can lift a battle ax," Loki commented idly.

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, slouching against the wall once more but still standing. "Now all I've got is my legacy that Ullr knows how it works, and my sparkling personality."

"At least, if you are lucky, your death will be quick."

"Whose side are you on?"

"Whichever benefits me the most."

"Wow, I can see why you're locked up in a dungeon with the riff-raff."

"Petty."

"Stuck-up."

"Ignorant flea."

"Contemptible criminal."

"Whining brat."

"Jotun beanstalk."

"Stupid- what?"

"You heard me. Jotun beanstalk."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That you're a Jotun beanstalk."

Loki glared at me, and I'm sure it was meant to strike fear into my heart or whatever, but I wasn't intimidated in the slightest. "Really, dude," I started. "You gotta brush up on your insulting game. Ooh, maybe I could just insult Ullr into giving up."

"Ullr is mightier than you can hope to beat," Loki rolled his eyes disdainfully. "As a weak and pitiful human, you would need exemplary training to even have a glimmer of a chance of wounding him."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow at the man. "And who exactly do you suggest?"

"That seems like one of your problems, not mine." Loki gave me a small, cold smile, and turned back to his cell. He took a seat in a plain chair- evidently he was allowed furniture- and picked up his book from where he left it. Flipping to a certain page, the god began reading and heartily ignoring me.

I rolled my eyes, ready to leave- but then an idea struck me out of the blue.

"Daggers," I said out loud. Loki acted as if he'd heard nothing.

I gave the god a look. "You and daggers... our books always mentioned you and daggers as your preferred weapon. They're less obvious, easier to conceal, good for subterfuge and trickery."

Loki still didn't move.

"How long have you been here? Months? Years?" I straightened up, taking a couple steps towards his cell. "Ever wanted a breath of fresh air?"

That got his attention.

Loki raised his head, looking at me with careful curiosity. "What exactly are you implying?"

"You said it yourself: I would need exemplary training to have a shot at Ullr," I replied. "You, if I recall correctly, aren't lacking in the daggers and magic department. And, seeing as I'm a competitor in a _gurth coste_ and therefore am entitled to training grounds of my choosing, then whoever was training me would simply be required to come along."

Loki stared at me, expression unreadable. "You really are peculiar," he mused. "So, if I understand your proposal correctly..."

"I mean," I shrugged. "I am just a petty, ignorant, whining pest of a brat."

Then Loki actually... chuckled.

"Well said, Gale of Midgard." He stood up and brushed some imaginary dust off of his clothes. "So, in return for helping you make less of a fool of yourself in the _gurth coste_ , you will make sure that I am allowed out of this cell in order to do so."

"That sounds about right."

"Then you have yourself a-"

"But you can't try to escape. Or intentionally injure or harm anyone. Or use your magic in a capacity not given express permission by me, after I run it over with Thor or somebody else who can keep you in check. And after the training is finished or earlier if I say so, you return here to your cell immediately without a fight or attempt of running."

Loki gave me a grudgingly impressed look. "I'm surprised you caught on to it that quickly."

"Eh," I smiled. "It's one of my many talents. So it's a deal?"

"I suppose it is, child."

"Call me child one more time and I'll burn your eyebrows off. Also, I didn't hear those magic words sealing the thing off."

"Very well, _Gale_. I agree to the terms of your deal. You have my word. Satisfied?"

"Yes, indeed." I sighed happily, glad that at least one thing was going right today. "Oh, I guess I'm gonna have to tell my companions about this whole deal. They won't be too happy about me working with the guy who brought an alien party to New York."

"Ah, yes." Loki shifted a bit uncomfortably. "It might be best if we avoided Barton for now, in the interest of preventing untimely deaths until the actual duel."

"Yeah. Oh, and I have to thank you for that, by the way."

"For destroying one of your world's cities?"

"Yup. 'Cause if you didn't do that, then I wouldn't have killed a bunch of Chitauri that slipped outta the Avengers' reach, and then I wouldn't have been invited here to Asgard and probably would've been stuffed in yet another glass cage."

"Glass cage? I know from experience that those aren't particularly enjoyable."

"I know, yeah. Too many potatoes." I let out a short laugh, and reached down to pick up the wooden basket that had held my lunch in it. "Alright, I'm off to find the queen to negotiate your temporary and supervised release. See ya later, beanstalk."

With that, I turned around, nodded briefly to the guards, and made my way back up the stairs. I didn't hear Loki say anything, but it's not like I would've stopped walking if he did. That's for calling me a brat, greeny.

I came out into the small hallway at the top, but waiting for me there was a pair of guards, blocking the way.

"Whoa..." I frowned. "May I help you?"

"The queen requests your presence," one of the guards said gruffly.

"Okay. So... are you to lead me there?"

"No," Queen Frigga's voice came from the end of the hallway. I looked to my left and saw her striding purposefully towards us, purple dress sliding over the smooth floor like oil on water.

"Queen Frigga," I murmured, and bowed my head in respect.

"I apologize for the rather informal meeting," Queen Frigga began. "But your time is not unlimited, as we all know. I take it you have spoken with my son?"

"Loki?" At my words, both of the guards stiffened. "Yes, in fact, we made a deal-"

"Good." The queen smiled at me. "I see my advice was taken well."

"You wanted this," I realized. "You wanted me to go to the dungeons."

"I simply gave you something to think about," Queen Frigga said without a hint of the cleverness I knew she had used. "And you just happened to find your way to a person that was capable of assisting you- a person, as it would seem, could not be seen visited directly by the queen."

My eyes were considerably wide. "My queen, you are a genius."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Gale," Queen Frigga dismissed the statement. "Now, I have yet to speak to Thor of this negotiation, which I am confident that you have crafted with precision, but I shall do that alone. A squadron of guards have been told to report to the private training grounds tomorrow morning for extra protection. King Odin will be alerted along with my son Thor, and your friends... I believe it is best if you yourself tell them of this predicament. Loki will be released tomorrow at the beginning of your training, and you will be offered anything you need to aid the process."

I stared openly at the queen. She smiled at me, and gave me the barest of winks. "I did not become the queen without a brain, Gale." She took a step back, and the guards clanked into a bow for her. "I wish you luck in your preparation."

And with that, Queen Frigga of Asgard, the undoubtedly most cunning and spectacularly awesome being in all the nine realms, strode back down the hallway in the whirl of violet-colored silk.

The guards and I were all equally star-struck.

"Does that happen a lot?" I asked, a bit faintly.

"Fairly often, yes," one of the guards replied in a similar tone. "We have served Queen Frigga for hundreds of years. Occurrences like that begin to become less rare after the first century or so."

"Okay," I took a breath. "Alright. Uh..." I trailed off, still trying to recover from the awesomeness that was Queen Frigga. "Now I have to tell the others. Got it. Should be pretty easy."

Needless to say, when I finally got back to the living quarters, it was not 'pretty easy' in the slightest.

I had given the wooden basket to Queen Frigga's guards, so I was empty-handed when I trudged all the way down the golden hallways and to the guest room I was staying in. Despite the stretching I'd done earlier, my body was still extremely sore, but at least it would fade quicker than those bruises and cuts that Sif gave me.

I opened up the door, and was immediately assaulted by a blob cussing at me.

"What the (bleep) were you thinking, Gale? Getting the guards to take us away? That's just (bleep). I couldn't even go outside- the (bleep-bleep) guards wouldn't let me! What the (bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep)-"

"What?" I asked, baffled. The blob- sorry, _Barton_ , I now realize- was standing right in front of me, arms crossed angrily.

"You heard me," Barton glared. "Not only are you in some _death match_ , but you're- bleeding?"

Barton's glare vanished as he looked at my face. "You're bleeding. Jeez, you're bleeding- are you hurt- what happened- was it Ullr-"

Barton all but dragged me over to the table, and I had enough time to notice that everyone else was in here- Stark, Romanoff, Dr. Banner, and Rogers- before I was pushed down onto a chair.

"Shiz- who did this-" Barton was still talking, trying to get a better look at my cheek.

"Chill, Barton!" I snapped. I raised a hand up to my skin, and when I brought it back, my fingers were dusted with half-dried blood. "Crud. Forgot to wipe that off."

"Seriously, Gale," Romanoff spoke up, moving to stand beside Barton in front of me. "Do I need to kill Ullr?"

"No," I groaned. "Just- what else did you think that physical training meant? Sunshine and rainbows?"

The adults exchanged glances. "Well..." Stark began. "We sorta..."

"Ullr isn't allowed to touch me before the duel starts," I sighed, slouching in the chair. "It was Sif. She was trying to help me out, but swords just aren't my thing."

"Bruce, you got the medical kit?" Barton looked at Dr. Banner.

"It's on the table-" Dr. Banner pointed, and Barton scooped up the small box without hesitation.

"I'm fine," I rolled my eyes. "I fixed up the cuts and bruises- it's only the blood that's left-"

"What? Fixed them- how?" Stark looked confused.

Barton was rifling through the kit, pulling out a tiny bottle of disinfectant and a cloth. "She's got this trick where she... I dunno, uses the wind or something... and she basically heals it right up."

"Like when we had the Nerf war," Romanoff clarified, "and Steve dislocated your shoulder."

"It was an accident," muttered the soldier from where he stood by the wall.

"I'm _fine._ " I scowled at Barton and took the cloth from him, and started to wipe the blood off my face. "Besides... why are all of you here?"

Stark raised his hand. "That was me. See, there's this thing you have, called a death wish, and it made you enter a suicide fight. So we're here, as responsible adults, to try and make sure that your brains don't decorate any lovely Asgardian floors."

"Tony, not helping," muttered Dr. Banner.

I finished wiping the blood off my face, and handed the cloth back to Barton. "Guys," I started. "I've got a plan- well, half of a plan. More like a basic idea of a strategy."

"And this is...?" Romanoff trailed off.

I took a breath. "Loki."

Barton's face immediately turned a spectacular shade of red. Stark and Dr. Banner looked like they were already plotting a murder, and Romanoff seemed to be running through the list of weapons she had in her head. 

Rogers looked like he was trying to pray but didn't know who to phrase it. "Gale," the soldier started, voice tense. "Please don't tell me you-"

"Made a deal with him," I finished. "Queen Frigga's on board too."

"He will _kill_ you!" Barton suddenly raised his voice. "He tried to take over the Earth! He killed hundreds of people! He freakin' _brain-washed_ me!"

"And he's my best shot at having a chance of beating Ullr," I cut across before Barton could get into his rant. "Sif can't help me with swords. I failed miserably at that. And Ullr created my people- he knows how my powers work- so I need a second weapon. Sif suggested daggers, and Queen Frigga pointed me in Loki's direction. So I made a deal. I start working with him tomorrow."

"Are you _insane_?" Stark raised his eyebrows at me.

"I can handle myself," I grunted, pushing myself out of the chair. "And I don't need your help-"

The act of not moving in the chair had given my muscles time to clench up again. As soon as I took a step, my legs creaked with pain and then buckled, sending me falling forwards.

"Whoa!" Barton cried as he caught me by the shoulder and held my upright.

"Get off, Birdbrain," I scowled and tried to swat him away.

"Right, right, I forgot," Barton rolled his eyes. "Healing, or whatever you called it, takes a lot outta you. Okay."

"I'm fine!" I protested, forcing myself to take another step towards the bedroom. I gritted my teeth, and this time, Barton didn't hesitate on the lecture.

"You seriously need to take better care of yourself, Gale. Do you even know how to pace yourself? You can't just go all gung-ho and Jackie Chan it out. Really, pipsqueak, you're going to really hurt yourself if you don't train properly." Barton's voice sort of retreated to the 'annoying noise' part of my brain, and I started to tune him out.

"Guys, how about you go back to your rooms," Romanoff ordered the others. "I'm sure Gale's had a very long day, and yelling at her for making a deal with one of the worst Asgardians in existence doesn't help."

"Neither does that," I commented as Stark, Dr. Banner, and Rogers filed out of the room. Barton, however, stuck around. He was hovering by my side, obviously ready to catch me if I fell again.

"I think that means you too." I gave him a look.

Barton gave me a sarcastic smile. "Sorry, featherweight, there's still multiple Asgardians who want you dead who _aren't_ bound by the rules of this stupid death match."

"Look, Gale," Romanoff started, and I saw her expression relax a bit, now that it was just her, me, and Barton. "I know you're more than capable of dealing with a lot of things by yourself, but you're fifteen, and we're a pair of master assassins. Like it or not, we're helping you."

"I. Don't. Need. Help."

"Really?" Barton deadpanned. "Let's just let Ullr's sidekicks cut your throat in your sleep tonight. Or let them poison your food. Or-"

"Shut up." I groaned, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes. I was tired, I was cranky, I just... ugh, I didn't even know what I needed. "Just- just let me- I can't-"

Somebody put a hand on my shoulder. "Kid," said Barton in a surprisingly quiet voice. "You alright?"

"No." I said the word before I realized I was even thinking it. "I'm still not even past the worst of the dreams."

"It gets worse?" I heard Romanoff ask after a pause, as if she and Barton were having a silent conversation as I stood there, hands pressed to my shut eyes. "Worse than the nightmare on movie night?"

I gave a brief, tense nod. "A Helheim of a lot more worse. I'm just praying that I can hold them off until the match is over." And I probably won't have to worry about them after that.

"Okay," Barton said, and I heard him move away from me.

Blinking, I lowered my hands and opened my eyes. Romanoff had removed one of her guns from a holster and had sat down on the other side of the table, and was in the process of disassembling it. Her eyes flickered up, briefly catching mine, and then focusing back on her work.

Barton, though, had picked up a black bag from a spot by the balcony and was searching through it for something. After another moment, he pulled something out, and was walking back toward me.

"Seriously?" I raised my eyebrows once I saw what he was holding: yet another bottle of (presumably) pills.

"Sleep aids," shrugged Barton as he handed them to me. "I mean, if you want to use them. But if you don't, that's cool."

I mulled the idea over in my head. "Well... seeing as I'd rather not be sleep deprived in the morning... I guess so."

I shook out a pair of the sleep aids and swallowed them, putting the bottle back on the table. "Thanks, Birdbrain."

"No prob, featherweight."

Romanoff let out a low chuckle as she methodically inspected every component of her various weapons that were now strewn across the table. "Goodnight, Gale."

I yawned as I opened the door to the bedroom, pausing just for a moment to reply. "'Night, Romanoff. 'Night, Barton."

With that, I shut the door behind me and flopped down on my bed, not bothering to change out of my clothes and into pajamas or even something remotely more comfortable. The room was dark, and even though it might've been just after dinner time or some weird place in the late afternoon, I was ready to crash. So I closed my eyes and hoped for the best.

Did I dream?

Well, that's like asking a bird if the sun rises in the morning. I almost always dream. And dreams, as I'm sure you've noticed, are far more... _challenging_ than they usually are for the average person.

So yes, I did dream.

I dreamed of a stone hearth and a crackling fire. I dreamed of hair the color of wind and eyes like mine. I dreamed of a young face and a younger voice.

_"Control, Gale, is something that you cannot live without."_

_"What if I cannot control my legacy, Alexei?"_

_"You must."_

_"But what if I can't? What if I lose control?"_

_"Gale, I do believe that you are not a bad person. You do not hurt for the sake of hurting. You are powerful, yes, far more powerful than I or- or your-"_

_"My... parents..."_

_"...Yes."_

_..._

_"I'm so sorry, Gale. You should have never gone through the trials you did."_

_"The trials happened. They died. What else is there to tell?"_

_"Gale... they loved you. You do know that, don't you? They loved you more than anything else. Your father loved you more than he ever loved me or his family- save Katerina."_

_"That was their downfall."_

_"Gale- you can't possibly-"_

_"I told Konstantin that I will accept his offer."_

_"What?!"_

_"Three days from now."_

_"He is not to be trusted-"_

_"I am Gale, of the Teneo, and I will live for the cause my parents died believing in."_

_"Gale, you are almost thirteen-"_

_"Thank you for the hot chocolate, Alexei. Good bye."_

_"Gale- no, Gale, wait- Gale!"_

_..._

_"Gale..._

_Do not lose yourself, Gale..._

_Please... although you are already gone... do not leave me..._

_Gale... you're all I have left..."_

_"Do not forget control, Gale, and how it feels..._

_...Do not forget control..."_

_Control._


	27. Oops (someone actually understands my swearing— and that’s not good)

The next day, I found myself in the same training courtyard as yesterday, minus Sif- and plus about fifteen more guards standing sentry.

Loki was standing there, though, in the middle of the open space. He was still dressed in the same clothes that he was wearing in the dungeon, which struck me as a little unhygienic.

"You're late," Loki told me in a bored tone.

"Excuse me, princess," I snorted, stepping onto the dirt. At least I had bothered to change clothes before coming here- although it was just another pair of sweatpants and a tank-top (that was funny, because it wasn't considered 'proper' or something, so some of the guards were giving me really nervous glances on the way here).

"Do you want my help or not?" Loki shot me a glare.

I rolled my eyes. "Sheesh, tough crowd. Fine. So, what's first?"

"First," the god turned to the stone bench behind him. "You need a weapon."

"I sorta figured that out, yeah. So, daggers?"

Loki was examining the array of knives and various short blades that were meticulously laid out on the stone bench, fingers ghosting over the weapons but never actually touching them. From behind me, I heard the slight rasp of metal on leather as the guards shifted uncertainly.

"Relax, guards," I said loudly. "If he's going to try to escape, he wouldn't do it right next to the display of deadly items that immediately draw your undivided attention to him."

The guards stopped moving. I heard what might've been a chuckle coming from Loki, who still had his back turned to me.

"You're clever," he stated, finally picking up a single dagger and turning to face me. I took a couple steps forward, meeting him in the middle of the training circle.

"I try to be," I shrugged. "The thing is that most people don't want me to be smart."

"And that stops you?" Loki tilted his head.

I smirked. "No. It makes me conceal my intelligence until I'm ready to unleash its full force on them."

His eyebrows raised a bit. "Curious."

I rolled my eyes. "Geez, try not to be so talkative." I looked up at him, finally noticing the overwhelming height difference. Loki was over six feet, whereas I barely made it to five and a half. _Man aen_ , this wasn't gonna be fun.

"Well then," said Loki in a brisk manner. "I suppose we better start."

He suddenly sliced forwards with the dagger he was holding. Acting on pure reflex, I threw myself backwards to avoid the attack, but lost my balance and tumbled onto the ground.

All around, every guard drew their swords in unison and took a step forward.

"It's okay, it's okay!" I cried out, holding a hand up. "It's alright."

The guards slowly returned to their usual positions, but kept their hands on the hilts of their weapons. I pushed myself to my feet, and faced Loki, who was standing calmly in front of me. "Sif did the same thing, you know. Attacking without warning."

"It gets the blood flowing," Loki remarked, with a hint of a smirk. "So why didn't you avoid it?"

I deadpanned. "Did you not just see me get out of the way?"

He gave me a look. "I saw you tumble backwards onto the ground, opening yourself to another attack that would not allow you to get back up."

"Well, I didn't get stabbed, so that's a plus."

"Really?" Loki raised an eyebrow. Just then, I felt something very sharp touch the middle of my spine. I stiffened, not certain who was behind me.

Loki suddenly dissolved in a ripple of green light in front of me, and I closed my eyes in exasperation at my own stupidity. " _Túg dol,_ " I cursed under my breath, and slowly turned around.

Loki- the real Loki, mind you- was standing there with the dagger outstretched towards my body. "I believe you just got stabbed," he said in an amused tone of voice.

I glared at him. "What did I say about magic that I didn't explicitly allow?"

Loki rolled his eyes. "You wanted my help, correct? This is how I help."

"I thought you were going to teach me how to wield daggers, not make a fool out of myself."

"You said it, not me."

I huffed, and shifted my stance. "Fine, then. Can we get to the actual training?"

Loki chuckled slightly, and held the dagger out to me, handle first. "As you wish, Gale of the Teneo"

The dagger was already in my hand when I realized what Loki had just said. Fumbling the weapon, I caught it clumsily and looked up at the god with barely disguised surprise. "I never told you-"

"The name of your people," Loki finished. "Yes, I am aware of that. However, if I am to aid you in preparation for the _gurth coste,_ I do need to know as much as possible in order to be useful to the highest extent. That involves receiving carefully worded information about the contents of your speech after the feast, which I understand was most... upsetting."

I snorted. "You're telling me. I had to live through that entire thing."

Loki gave me a judging look. "And you have no prior fighting experience? No battles?"

"I'm fifteen, _halla_ _lai_. I know how to dodge, and how to hurt from a distance. Not up close. And I've never fought in a battle."

At that, Loki narrowed his eyes, and for a moment I felt like an insect- pinned to the spot, unable to move. "I am the God of Lies, Gale. I know when one is being told."

A cold sensation trickled up my spine, like a rain drop falling in reverse. I realized that it was a wind, creeping over my shoulders like a layer of armor. But I didn't summon it- not consciously, anyway.

Gritting my teeth, I looked Loki straight in the eye, and spoke in a low enough tone that he and only he could hear me. "I know how to run, and how to fight from a distance." I paused for a second, the wind around my shoulders now reaching down my arms. "I have fought no battles- not when there were two armies opposing each other, and not when one side wins."

Loki didn't even blink. He just stood there, taking in my every word, analyzing them.

"Gale," he finally began, in an equally quiet voice. "I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to let the daggers be. We will get to them soon enough."

I frowned, confused. Loki made a small gesture to the stone bench to the side, and I looked over at it.

Every blade there- of which there were about fifteen or so- was quivering, slightly trembling, and little glints of silver wind appeared and vanished around them.

Taking a breath, I raised my free hand, the one that wasn't clutching the dagger, at the bench and focused on calming the winds. The blades stopped shivering. The silver glints faded and didn't return.

"So?" I said abruptly, not meeting Loki's gaze. "Are we going to do some actual fighting or what?"

After a beat, Loki picked up another dagger from the bench. This one was larger, with a leather grip and a bronze blade with a groove down the middle. Loki moved back over to where I was, but stood on my right, shoulder to shoulder with me- or top of head to shoulder, seeing how tall he was.

He held the dagger out so I could see it, and began motioning to different parts.

"Pommel, hilt, cross-guard, fuller, edge, point. Pommel stops your hand from slipping off, and is actually quite useful to hit people over the head with. Hilt, for holding. Cross-guard stops the opponent's blade from cutting off your hand. Fuller- the divet down the blade- keeps the blood and various fluids from touching your skin. Edge cuts, point stabs."

Loki gave me a criticizing look. "I do hope you know how to stab someone."

I gave him a look. "I dunno, are you volunteering?"

Then Loki actually chuckled- like an actual chuckle, not the 'James Bond villain I'm gonna be so mysterious and dramatic and fail anyway' chuckle. For a moment, I thought I was about to be killed or dropped into a pool full of hungry piranhas.

But before I could comment on that, Loki had started talking again.

"Now, I suppose you know that a knife's capabilities are not limited to simply making a body its unorthodox sheath, so to speak. Daggers are more built for piercing, that much is true, but some knives have curved blades, which of course..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" _Earth is solid. It is unwavering in resolve. It will not yield for you."_

" _I know, Nianin."_

_"Then why do you fall?"_

_"You just said it- I cannot fight it."_

_"No, you ignorant child. I said that it will not give way. It is not easy. It will not forgive."_

_"Like you?"_

_"Silence, Gale, or you will regret being born with a tongue."_

_"..."_

_"Very good. At least you are a quick learner... at certain things."_

_"...Thank you, Nianin."_

_"Now, Gale, you are air. You are without substance, without weight, without force. You can only go around the mountain, not through it."_

_"...Why not?"_

_"'Why not'? Gale, this foolishness is why you will always fail. You have no hope of living up to your parents' legacy and you will drag others down with you until-"_

"Shut up!"

The person in front of me paused mid-movement, a blade held in their hand that was halted in the middle of the swing, shining in the bright sunlight.

"Gale?" They said, more of a cautionary word than a question. "I was not speaking."

I let the dagger in my hand fall to the dirt-covered ground, and let out a heavy breath. The sun overhead was hotter than yesterday, and I couldn't tell the difference between the sweat running down my skin and the small breezes that would brush against me. The packed dirt of the training circle had been kicked loose and plumes of dust were slowly traveling across the ground, like fog on the surface of a lake in the cold mornings.

The air was thick and heavy, and my head was beginning to spin. I didn't know if it was from the fact that, judging by the sun in the sky, it was at least lunchtime. Or maybe it was that I'd drunken at least three cups of coffee this morning, and I might just be feeling the late effects of caffeine on an already stressed teenager who might die three days starting tomorrow.

"Break," I panted, and without waiting for a reply, I stumbled over to a shady part of the training circle and flopped down onto the dirt, legs splayed out in front of me.

I heard Loki sigh, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pick up the dagger I'd dropped and examine it for any damage.

Closing my eyes, I carefully lowered my body back until I was lying completely on the dirt, the smell of sweat and dust filling the air. Folding my arms, I rested them over my eyes so that they blocked out the light. That provided a small but welcome relief from the pressure in my head.

"Gale, you have no time to waste." Loki's voice came from above me.

Groaning, I raised one arm and vaguely swatted the air over my body. "Go away, _lai ingóle_."

There was a moment of quiet after that, and I assumed that Loki had taken my advice and gotten the Helheim away from me.

We'd been out here for at least four hours, and usually I wouldn't be complaining about something like this, but it was like the world just hated me today. My body hurt, the sun was too bright, the air was too dense... it would make anyone want to just throw in the towel and give up.

But at least I had something to show for today, which was more than I could say for training with Sif. I'd been working on quick attacks that Loki showed me how to execute properly, ones that relied on my speed and ability to dart in and out of the opponent's range. Basically, I used my innate knowledge of running away to land a blow and then scurry off before I got turned into a red blob of flesh and failed expectations.

And... Sif was right. About the daggers, at least. They all felt a heck of a lot more natural than any of the swords ever did. And Loki, though I almost hated to admit it, wasn't the worst teacher. He actually was a lot better than any of the Teneo members I'd worked with, especially... _Nianin_...

But at least _Nianin_ didn't use magic against me. Okay, well, she did have other Teneo members launch rocks at my body until I could barely move, but she never made clones of herself and then had them all attack me at once (dirty move, Loki, dirty move).

Then something heavy landed on my stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs with a sudden _oof-_

"What in the _aina cúma-_ " I shouted angrily, once I had my breath back.

"You're welcome," said Loki flatly as he gracefully sat down cross-legged on the ground to my right.

Squinting against the sunlight, I propped myself up on my elbows. A bundle of cloth was resting on my gut, about the size of a soccer ball.

"What the heck is this supposed to be?" I muttered, glancing over to Loki.

He had a similar wad of fabric sitting on the ground next to him, except his was open and there was... a loaf of bread?

"Midgardians do have lunch, don't they?" Loki said, somewhat snootily.

"Shut up, _halla lai_ ," I shot back, sitting up straight and opening up my own cloth bundle. Inside, there was a similar piece of bread, just big enough for one person, and a small wooden bowl that was stained or treated in some way that made it look glassy to the touch.

"I take it that English is not your first language?" Loki stated as he ripped the bread up into bite sized bits.

I shook my head as I picked up the wooden bowl and peeled back the clinging, shimmery fabric that covered the top. "Oh my God, meat stew," I said happily as I smelled the contents. "How the heck did they transport this in a wooden bowl?"

"The cloth is water-resistant and is treated to stick to the edges of the bowl," Loki replied, glancing over at me. "You didn't answer my question. Where do you hail from?"

"Russia," I answered honestly. "It's cold but pretty."

"Cold..." Loki mused, seeming to drop off into thought. I turned my head a little, and saw that the god was staring down at his own food, green eyes focused on something that wasn't there. "My... homeland... is cold as well. Frigid and freezing. No room for forgiveness or caring."

"Sounds a lot like _Nianin_."

" _Nianin_?"

"Oh, it's just a... how do I put this... It's like calling someone 'sir' or 'madame'. A term of respect, used for those above you in a social sense. People with more power, more money, the boss's boss's boss."

"And he was harsh."

" _She_ , she was... _Nianin_ was like a hill. Not big enough to be a mountain, and so painfully aware of it that she refused to yield. She refused to bend, to give way. It got her to a high standing as a trainer. But she believed that everyone below her was meant to be a staircase upwards, and everyone above was a ladder. People were tools to be appraised, and if found worthy, to be collected and polished. If not, then they were to be broken, so they would be of use to no one else."

"So you trained with her, I take it."

"For years. Her legacy was... well, she belonged in the water circle. She was good with blood- she knew how hard you were pushing yourself, where you were injured, and to some extent, she could raise or lower your blood pressure- that was nasty, she'd do it if you talked back to her. She didn't like me, though. She made sure I knew it."

Loki shifted in his seat, straightening up a little. "What did she train you with?"

I grimaced. "She was supposed to help me with my legacy. Controlling it, shaping it, guiding it- figuring out what it was and where it wanted to go. In her mind, that meant discovering my breaking point. _Nianin_ would put me up against other Teneo members. She'd give me a basic move, and I was supposed to use that and _only_ that to defend or attack. So, needless to say, I got used to feeling bruises and cuts."

" _Nianin_ sounds as charming as a Jotun."

"She might as well have been one," I chuckled. "And she hated me the most. Probably because I had more raw power in my legacy than she did. Maybe 'cause of my family."

"Ah, so your surname.."

I chuckled as I snared a tiny breeze and whirled it over the little bowl, cooling the stew down. "Not a chance, _lai ingóle_. Nobody's got that little pearl of information. Besides me, of course."

"And your parents."

My heart dropped like a stone. The grin fell from my face, the air whooshed out of my lungs, and for a terrifying moment, they refused to inflate again.

-y _ou'll be the death of me-_

_-we're all dead, Gale. And you are too-_

_-do the trick, Mama! Do-_

_-control, Gale. Without control, you are-_

_-dead-_

_-don't ever do that again, baby-_

_-whisper creak laugh went the trees-_

_-death of me-_

_-they said-_

_-control, Gale, or-_

_-you're dead too-_

"Gale."

Someone's fingers snapped together right in front of my face. I jolted backwards, eyes flying wide.

Loki was leaning towards me, a somewhat confused look on his face. He pulled back his hand as soon as I moved, though, and settled back into his place.

"You didn't respond the first three times I called your name," Loki said indifferently, going back to the remains of his food and tucking the bowl and bread crumbs back into the cloth bundle.

I took a breath, and slid the fingers of one hand to my other wrist, instinctively feeling for a pulse. Anything to show that I was still alive. Because in the dreams, I'd only have a heartbeat if it was going to be taken from me.

"Sorry," I muttered. The blood in my veins pressed up against my fingertips for a moment, and then receded. A steady, albeit quickened, pulse. Good.

"What did you see?"

"What?"

Loki gave me a look. "You saw something. What was it?"

The muscles in my jaw clenched. "Nothing."

"If I am to aid you-"

"Believe me, I can deal with myself. All I want you to do is to help me _not_ die and then leave me alone." I stared resolutely at the remains of my own lunch.

A sudden movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. My head swiveled upwards, finding the stone wall that surrounded the training grounds. There, perched in the shadow of the palace and barely visible, was a dark-feathered bird. It was staring at me, with a pair of glittering eyes that seemed almost... sentient. 

Then the bird cocked its head again, ruffling its feathers, and suddenly I realized that I'd seen it before.

"That stupid bird," I muttered.

"Excuse me?" Loki said delicately, obviously irritated at me.

I pointed up at the bird, which hopped back a step or two. "It was here yesterday. Maybe the guards feed it or something, and that's why it shows up. I dunno. But I think it's glaring at me. What about you, you think it's glaring?"

I looked back at Loki just in time to see him rise quickly to his feet, eyes narrowed at the bird. Instantly on red alert, I scrambled up from my seat, automatically searching for the strongest winds in the area, just to see where they were.

"To be clear," Loki said in a crisp voice, not averting his gaze from the bird. "It was here yesterday, when you were training with Sif."

Now I was just confused. "Uh, yeah."

"Would you say that the weather is strange for this season? Oddly warm and _windless_ , correct?"

And now that he mentioned it- yup. I did a double check in my mind, and the strongest wind around was a tame east breeze that was just big enough to flutter my hair. I could whip it up into something _much_ less mild, but that would require more effort, and it'd drain my energy if I tried to maintain it.

I gave Loki a suspicious look. "You aren't playing games with me, are you? Because if you are-"

"Permission to use magic?" Loki interrupted me. "That is, if you would be so _generous_ as to allow me to utilize one of my only natural talents."

I mulled it over for a second. "Yes, but so help me God if you-"

The moment I agreed, Loki raised a hand at the bird, and clenched it into a fist.

The bird squawked in surprise as a green band encircled it, pining its wings to its side. Loki slowly drew his arm back, and the ensnared bird was carried through the air and down to where we stood.

Around us, the guards were tensing up again at the sight of Loki's magic.

I lifted a hand, making sure they all could see. "At ease, guards. It's fine."

As soon as the bird was close enough, Loki's pale hands reached out and clutched it tightly, ensuring that it wouldn't escape. The bird struggled and tried to peck the god, but its head was held forward in a firm grip.

"It reeks of magic," Loki uttered disdainfully, inspecting the bird's eyes, but was careful not to get too close. "Ullr's doing, no doubt."

"Ullr?" My stomach dropped for the second time in as many minutes. "You're sure?"

Loki spared me a quick glance, his face holding no trace left of irritation from our conversation. "His abilities revolve around the wild. Afterall, it helps to track an animal if the wind always blows down from where you stand, or if the sun somehow never shines in your eyes. And Ullr's particular brand of magic encompasses the minds of basic animals- including birds, very much like this one."

Loki looked the bird directly in the eye, and smiled a cold, dark smile. "Greetings, Ullr. It's certainly been a while since we've last met. How is preparation for the _gurth coste_ going? I do hope you aren't expending your energy and time on creating basic sight links between yourself and a helpless creature."

The bird renewed its struggling, and if looks could kill, then Loki and I would be six feet under ten times.

"Spying? Seriously?" I glared back at the bird. "Dirty move."

"Well, there is something I can do about this." Loki sounded amused as green sparks glittered around his hands.

The bird let out a deafening cry, making me wince, but I ignored the sound when I saw that its body was writhing- and not in the way that the bird was moving before, but skin underneath was... bubbling. Like something was trying to get out of it.

As I watched, whatever it was that was inside began to move from the body and up the neck, the bird itself trying to break free every second of it. But its cries were cut off as its beak was forced open-

And a shadow burst out from the bird's throat, a whirl of darkness that twisted up into the air with the sound of a ghostly shriek and spun off over the wall before I could blink, much less react to it.

In Loki's hands, the bird went limp, eyes still wide but now glassy and still.

"Good riddance," I uttered, breaking the silence.

"Good riddance indeed," Loki agreed, and let the bird fall from his hands. It hit the ground with a dull thump, and I stared at it for a moment. Dead and gone... Ullr had killed it- maybe not directly, but it was dead because of him... and I had a feeling that to him, my life would have no more worth than that which he just snuffed out with no care.

Loki went back over to where we had been sitting, and picked up both of our daggers. Without warning, he deftly flipped one around so he was holding it by the blade, and with a simple flick of his wrist, he threw it at me.

Without thinking, I swept one hand up from my side and bent the wind with it, up and across my body- and knocking the dagger aside with ease. It clattered to the ground, next to the body of the bird.

"Well?" Loki asked me with a smug little grin. "Are you going to fight?"

Smirking right back, I cast out my other hand, and used the same wind to bring the dagger back into my hand. Now that Ullr- well, his presence- was gone, I could feel the air begin to lighten around me, and the wind came rushing to me with greater ease than before.

"No time to waste, _halla lai_ ," I shrugged, and held the dagger as Loki had shown me: blade reversed, point towards my elbow.

Loki chuckled. "I agree, _mista ince_."

I almost dropped the dagger. Again.

"You- you know-" I stammered.

Loki actually laughed at that. "Yes, I do speak _Ilúve_. The formal name of _erui_ lammen, as I understand. I learned it, oh, around seven centuries ago. Give or take five decades."

My cheeks turned a bit red. "That means you..."

"Understood your... ahem... _creative_ language while we were training?" Loki raised an eyebrow at me. "I'm surprised that your vocabulary has flourished in... _that_ direction."

"Oh," I said, a bit lamely. "Sorry, I guess. For the insults."

Loki grinned. "I've never been called a 'tall green pile of smug ego-building Jotun-ness' before. Nor... what was it... 'a bean-fed rhinoceros's worth in poorly digested excrement'."

"Please don't tell Rogers."

"Afraid he'll wash your mouth out with soap?"

"Very. He's already suspicious of the things I mutter in Russian after I stubbed my toe at dinner and Romanoff choked on her pasta."

"Really?"

"Barton had to give her the Heimlich. Rogers just spent the rest of dinner eyeing me carefully each time I spoke."

"Well, seeing as they tend to be my adversaries... do continue swearing."

"Why thank you, your Greenie-ness."

"Please don't."

"Magical Jotun beanstalk?"

"No."

"Emo Thor?"

"Stop."

"Special green snowflake?"

"I will throw another dagger at your face."

"One of the L'Oreal brothers."

"And I will not miss."

" _Ae rodyn_. _Ince tur._ "

"I just told you I speak that languages _quite_ fluently. And I most certainly do not-"

" _Vy chuvstvuyete zapakh ryby."_

"Is that... what language is that?"

"Russian. But you didn't deny it.

"I don't even know what you said!"

"...but you didn't say no."

"Cease your petulant statements and prepare yourself to fight."

"If you think you can take me, _Shekspir_ _v parke_. Let's do this."

Author's Note: So I know that the multiple languages thing is gonna get confusing, but I'll try to make it as clear as possible. Believe me, there's a reason for it that will be revealed in due time. Also, I'm going to make little translations of the things said in each chapter so it's easier to comprehend, so the first one is just below this. But on another note, I'm planning on making a chapter composed of entirely Clint's point of view- so any input you guys have on that is welcomed.

(everything here is Erui Lammen unless stated otherwise)

 _Man aen_ : Good God

 _Túg dol_ : Thick head

 _Halla lai_ : literally 'tall green', used as a descriptive nickname

 _Lai ingóle_ : literally 'green magic', used as a descriptive nickname

 _Nianin_ : from _nia nin_ 'over me', used as a descriptive title

 _Aina cúma_ : holy ‘heck’

 _Mista ince_ : can mean 'grey bird' or 'small grey', so basically a disguised slight against someone's height in some cases

 _Ilúve_ : whole

 _Erui lammen_ : first tongue

 _Ae rodyn_ ; _Ince tur_ : both literally mean 'small power', so like calling someone a weakling

 _Vy chuvstvuyete zapakh ryby_ (Russian): You smell like fish

 _Shekspir_ _v parke_ (Russian): Seriously? You need a translation for this? It's 'Shakespeare in the Park', you Midgardians.


	28. Get back up

Author's Note: So, I decided that everyone who has to go back to school tomorrow deserves something nice. So here's a chapter that I literally wrote in one day. Enjoy: 

That second day passed by in a flash.

Or rather, a prolonged torture session by humiliation.

I mean, there's only so many magic tricks one can take before they start getting on your nerves. Cloning? Yeah, not as cool as you'd think. Green smoke clouds that block most of your vision? They smell like rotten avocados and the sticky stuff in your car's cup-holders. And animated copies of wildlife ordered to attack from all sides? I'll be darned if farting weasels counts as strategy training.

When the sun began to go down, the guards stopped the training session and took Loki back to his cell. I was disappointed to say the least, because... well... I was actually learning something.

Okay, sure, there's blood on my hands from the countless times I cut myself trying to throw a knife correctly. But overall, I wasn't completely defenseless without my legacy anymore. 

On the other hand, I was starting to feel something else. Something that was strange, something I've never felt before. I didn't have a name for it. For all I knew, it didn't have one.

It was in my chest, right where my heart should be, just a bit left from the center. It felt like... like...

Have you ever loved someone, and then suddenly moved far away from them? There's this heavy sensation you get in your body, and every nerve in you is saying that there's something missing when there shouldn't be, and you need to go find it and bring it back. Even if you know you're going back to whatever it is, it still feels... out of place. Yeah, those were the best words I could think of that summed this feeling up. Out of place. 

I needed _something_. I just couldn't figure out what.

Or maybe I wasn't missing anything at all, and this was all some trick of Ullr's. Maybe I was just imagining it. But then again, if I wasn't, then there was something wrong with me, and I got the feeling that if I didn't figure it out or get someone to help me with it, it would grow and grow until it started to hurt me in a much less mild way.

If I couldn't get a hold of whatever was going on with my body, then I'd be dead the second I walked into that fighting ring-

"Kid- hey, kid-"

My head jolted upright from where it had been resting on my arms. I was sitting at the table in my room, the early morning sunlight filtering in through the balcony. I could feel a breeze circulating through the room, and a tiny bit of me was pleased at the thought of a windy day, although today wouldn't be just for fun and giggles. It was the morning of the last day of physical preparation- the training days of _Lend na haer_ were already half-over.

Barton was sitting diagonally from me, and was waiting for a reply.

"Oh," I said a bit belatedly. "Right. Yeah. I agree. Continue?"

Barton sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I asked if you were alright. Now I'm guessing the answer is no, though."

I scowled at the man. "I'm-"

He pointed a finger at me in warning. "If you say the words 'I'm' and 'fine', I'll electrocute you myself and take you back to Earth."

I glared. "Iam not afflicted with any harm or wrongdoing to my body, nor my mind."

Barton took in a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut in an effort to regain his temper. "Let me rephrase- you will tell me what's got you so upset and then I will shoot it multiple times."

It was my turn to sigh. "You do know you can't solve every problem by sticking an arrow in it, right?"

"Works for me so far."

"How does Romanoff deal with you?"

I heard the woman herself call out from the balcony, where she was keeping an eye out on the city below. "Vodka shots. Like a charm."

"Nice to know," I called back. "Got any under-age friendly substitutions?"

The red-head glanced back over her shoulder at me, an amused smirk curling on her face. "Hopes and prayers, Gale, hopes and prayers."

Barton cleared his throat rather loudly, drawing my attention back to him. Romanoff went back to looking at the city.

"Gale, you've got ten seconds to start talking before I call Steve in here and tell him you're considering killing a bald eagle," Barton threatened. "And you know his patriotic speech will keep you here for at least an hour."

I groaned. "It's nothing major..."

The man started to stand up.

" _But_ -" I said grudgingly. Barton sat back down with a smug little smirk. "You can't help me."

"And why not?"

"Because-" I cut myself off, trying to find the correct words before I continued. "Because the only people who could are dead. Unless you two are suddenly members of the Teneo and professional Heartstrikers, I don't think you can make much of a difference."

Barton frowned. "Hold up. What's a Heartstriker?"

"It's... remember the feast, and how you all asked me what my tattoo meant- and how I said it was my echelon?"

"Right, your level or job or something."

"Close enough. In the Teneo, we've got thirteen echelons. As we grow up, our legacies tend to develop in certain directions. Once we come of age, we formally join an echelon- that's when we get the markings. And from that point on, our loyalty is to the echelon first, our legacy circle second, and our family third."

Romanoff walked back in from the balcony, seemingly interested in what I was saying. She took a seat next to Barton, both of their faces showing the same mixture of practiced indifference and slight curiosity.

I gave both of them a mildly annoyed look. "You guys do know I'm not giving a history lesson, right?"

"Well, excuse me for expressing interest," Barton rolled his eyes. "You're actually talking about your past for once. It's a rare occurrence. I've grown to appreciate it when it comes."

Romanoff cut across her partner. "So what's a Heartstriker and why could one help you?"

Leaning back in my chair, I traced patterns on the wooden table with my fingertip, threads of silver trailing behind the movements. "Heartstrikers are a neutral echelon. They train with their legacies and specialize them in the direction of the human body. Heartstrikers usually tend to split up into two sub-groups: those who work on fixing the body, and those who focus on breaking it apart. My... my uncle, Alexei, was a Heartstriker. He was good with mending- healing, you call it. Since his legacy was in the air circle, he was sent to any person with problems with their breathing or related things. Asthma, gaseous poisons, even colds and coughs."

"So you're saying... you need a doctor?" Barton asked, and I saw alarm flash over his face. "Wait- you're hurt?"

"No," I wearily denied. "I don't need a doctor. Whatever's affecting me, it's not exactly... physical. Yet. I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?" Romanoff's eyebrows were raised. "Gale, if you want people to stop worrying about you, ominously vague statements concerning your health are definitely not the way to go."

Rolling my eyes and denying to reply to her statement, I stood up from my seat. The two assassins shifted, about to follow suit, when I held up a hand to stop them. "Anyway, it's time for me to head down to training. See you tonight, I guess."

Barton scowled at me. "Exactly how long to you plan on having us under house arrest? Seriously, Gale-"

"I don't want you shadowing me while I train. So what if I have the guards keep you away? I have every right."

Romanoff glanced between me and Barton. "Maybe we should just-"

Barton gave a dry chuckle, standing up from his chair and drawing himself up to his full height so I was forced to look upwards at him. "No, I'm interested in what Gale's got to say. So why exactly do you want us all gone? Is it so you can relax without our obviously sinister plots to keep you healthy hanging over your head?"

Glaring at him, I crossed my arms defiantly. "I never asked for you to do anything besides leaving me alone."

"I'm not hearing you deny it," Barton said, almost tauntingly.

"Because I don't have to respond to every jab you throw my way!" I raised my voice. 

Romanoff was looking more and more uncertain with every moment that passed. "Clint, Gale-"

"I'd like to know exactly why you're so defensive when it comes to this!" Barton matched my tone, his face drawn in something that was beginning to look like a cross between annoyance and anger.

Against my better judgment, I ignored his expression. "Like I said before, _I don't want you reporting back to SHIELD_. Is that too hard for you to understand?"

"And like _I've_ said before, not everything I do is an interrogation!"

"Then why are you so pushy on watching me _fight_?!"

"Because maybe I could actually _HELP_ you!"

"And why is that?!"

"I'm an _assassin_! I fight for a living! Do you honestly think that I'm _useless?!_ "

"No! I just-"

"Then _why_ -"

"I don't have to explain myself!"

" _Just spit it out_ -"

"BECAUSE I'LL HURT YOU!" I shouted over Barton.

He was surprised, to say the least. Romanoff was staring at me too. Both adults didn't know how to respond to that.

I took a step back from Barton, increasing the distance between me and them. "Because I'll hurt you," I repeated in a quieter tone.

"Gale-"

"No." I shook my head. "You're right. You deserve to know why I'm not letting you help train me." I took a deep breath, and tried to keep the cold sensation in my spine from gathering too much momentum. "You guys don't get it. You're human."

"Yeah," Barton started slowly. "But you are too, right? That's what you've been telling us."

I looked off to the side of the room- anything to avoid looking at Barton and Romanoff head-on. "You're human. And... humans break. We shatter a lot easier than any other being in the nine realms. Me, even thought my body is human and is hurt just like one, I've got powers that bend the primal force of nature to my will. If I train with Asgardians, I can use my legacy in a capacity that I just _couldn't_ with a human trainer. Because... Asgardians can shake off the dust when they get thrown into a stone wall. If just a little bit of wind makes it out of my control, and hits someone on the sidelines, Asgardians can laugh it off and still stand."

My throat was dry by now, and my body seemed heavier with the words that were coming out of my mouth. "Humans... humans won't get back up."

I risked a glance up at Barton, who was still staring at me. "Do you understand now, at least? Why I can't let you be around me?" I shook my head, a brittle chuckle working its way out of my lips. "You won't get back up. None of you will. And God knows I can't let anyone else get hurt because of my own ignorance."

No one uttered a word after that. All three of us just stood there, looking at each other, trying to see who'd break the silence first.

"Seriously?" Barton suddenly spoke up, drawing my attention back to him. "That's why you won't let us watch?"

It took me a moment to find a reply. "Well... yes."

Romanoff let out a snort. "Really, Gale? And you couldn't just tell us that? We would've backed off, you know. Why didn't you just say so in the beginning?"

I gave her a heavy look. "How else would I know about what happens when I lose control, even for a split second?"

That seemed to hit the two adults. Understanding began to dawn on them. 

"Jesus, Gale." All traces of anger and shock were gone from Barton's face. "I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," I waved a hand wearily. "You didn't know. How could you? I never told you until a minute ago."

I took a breath, pulled my hair out from its ponytail, and began to braid it back from my face. "I need to get to training," I said quietly. "I'll tell the guards to leave you all alone. Just... just keep what I said in mind. I don't want to explain what happened to Fury if we go back to Earth with a handful of dead agents."

With that, I walked quietly past the two adults and out of my room.

As usual, there were a handful of guards positioned outside my door. A pair of them split off and followed me close behind as I began to make my way down the hall.

"Guards," I spoke up, not bothering to look behind me at them. "From this point on, you do not shadow my companions, nor prevent them from entering the training area. However, if they make an attempt to do so, notify me first and then let them proceed. Is all understood?"

"Yes, my lady," came the unanimous reply. I reached the door that led out to the courtyard, and without hesitation, pushed it open. 

Something flashed in the sunlight, and out of reflex, I jerked to the side to avoid it.

A dagger thudded into the wood of the door right where my face would've been, the blade sunken in about two inches and quivering with the force of the throw.

"Really?" I called out, rolling my eyes. "At least let me stretch before you try to kill me."

Loki, who was standing as before in the middle of the dirt circle, let out a slight chuckle. "You still managed to avoid it. Without using the wind."

"Yeah, that's because you won't let me," I said as I walked down to meet him. "I haven't done much else than whip up a breeze or two."

"And _that_ is precisely why you were able to dodge the knife. Because you're no longer relying on your innate abilities."

I smirked up at Loki, who hadn't moved yet. "Yes, and speaking of innate abilities..."

I took a small step to my left as I turned around, coming face to face with... Loki. "Nice trick," I commented. "But I'm a quick learner."

The real Loki grinned as a shimmer of green light behind me echoed the disappearance of the clone. "Well spotted. I do wonder, though, how you saw the difference..."

I shrugged. "You move more when you speak. And, seeing as it's a breezy day, any substantial person would be blocked the air flow. I didn't feel any resistance or circumventing winds coming from your direction when I checked. Besides, it's just like you to do something like that."

Loki nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "You might actually stand a chance against Ullr."

"Aw, _halla lai_ , is that a compliment?" I smirked.

He sniffed delicately as he pulled another dagger from his tunic-vest pocket, and held it loosely. "Merely a statement, _mista ince_."

"Low blow."

"If you stood a bit higher off the ground, it would not be so."

I glared at the green-eyed god, who was grinning down at me. "Watch yourself, _lai ingóle_. I'm prefect kidney-stabbing height for a beanstalk such as yourself." Then I noticed that I wasn't armed, and Loki looked like he was about to attack me either by himself or with another digestively-challenged ferret. "So... we're jumping straight into training or what?"

I started to walk past Loki to where the stone bench with the usual array of knives were, but all of a sudden there was a cold hand on my shoulder, halting me.

I looked down at my arm, and slowly glanced up at Loki with a skeptic expression. "You wanna elaborate before I punch you?"

Loki took his hand back, but the cold imprint of where it had been lingered. I felt a minute shiver race down my arm and back up. "You mentioned that you have not yet trained with your legacy, while under my instruction," he said. "While I do believe that your legacy will not fight your fight for you, I am under the impression that relying on a skill you've learned anew for two days is foolish, to say the least."

I frowned, trying to sort out his words. "So you're saying... use my legacy now?"

Loki dipped his head in a brief nod. "Precisely. Of course, you are encouraged to use a weapon as well. Learning how to use both in harmony with each other will undoubtedly be essential to your likelihood of survival."

"Eh, well," I continued past Loki and looked over the knives that rested on the stone bench. "I kinda like my odds regardless- I mean, Ullr's not exactly gonna toy with me, right? He'll kill me at the first chance."

My fingers traced the edges of the blades as I spoke, my words growing almost bitter as they progressed. "No slow death for me. Just... done and done."

Loki's quiet voice came from somewhere a bit behind me, but it carried nonetheless. "We both know you're lying to yourself, Gale. We both know exactly what Ullr will do- or try to."

A short, dry laugh bubbled out from me before I could stop it. "Because once first blow hits, there are no rules."

A hand appeared in my vision, and I blinked in reflex before realizing that a knife was being presented to me. Loki looked down at me once more, but there was no disdain on his face. "Then I suggest you take advantage of that."

After a moment of hesitation, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and pulled the knife back to my side, examining it in the sunlight. "Well..." I trailed off. "You wanna start fighting or just sit here feeling sorry for the rest of the day?"

Loki turned around and walked briskly to the other side of the dirt circle. "If you think you can do better this time, then by all means, go ahead."

Snorting, I held the knife in a ready position. "I dunno, _halla lai_ , since you're letting me use my legacy it's not gonna be a fair fight."

Loki smirked, and I immediately felt like I severely overestimated my abilities. "Is that so?"

Without warning, he raced forward at me. I sidestepped to the left and tried to land a hit on his back, but he'd already spun back around to face me.

Frowning, I began to call up the wind, but a bolt of green magic shot out from Loki's free hand, and it hit me before I could avoid it. I stumbled backwards- I might as well have been pummeled with a bowling ball to the gut, for all it felt like.

"Really?" I gasped, trying to regain my breath.

Loki chuckled. "You have your powers, I have mine. Unless you think you're in an unfair fight, of course."

Gritting my teeth, I summoned a quick breeze in my other hand, and shot it out straight at Loki. He dodged just in time to avoid the brunt of the blow, but winced nonetheless when the edge of the wind caught his shoulder.

Without skipping a beat, I wrapped up another wind- but this one was a southerly, and as I kept my eyes on Loki, I began to heat it up. "That all you got?" I taunted.

Then two green shimmers on either side of Loki appeared, and quickly expanded into... you guessed it: clones.

All three Loki's grinned in unison. "I suppose you like being beaten," the middle one said, and then they rushed at me.

The south wind was only mildly warm, but I didn't have any other option. I threw it out in a wide arc around me, the air shimmering but not yet silver. The wind marks that had been pushing up against my skin receded once the wind was out of my grasp. The Loki's split off, surrounding me. Great.

I eyed each of them, trying to figure out which was the real Loki. But someone gave me a good shove from behind, and I nearly tripped forward. Whirling around, I saw that the Loki's were changing position once more, keeping themselves from being figured out.

I narrowed my eyes. "Dirty move, Loki."

All three laughed. "It's only dirty if you fall, _mista ince_."

Another push. I almost toppled over, and spun back with a growl. I sliced at the Loki behind me, only to have the blade sink into thin air. The clone smirked, and then a cloud of green smoke filled my vision. By the time it had cleared- and by the time I stopped coughing- the Loki's were moving again, switching positions.

Okay, so if I couldn't isolate the real Loki just by looking, and my blade wasn't exactly helping, that left...

I did a mental inventory of the winds around me. South breeze, bit of an easterly, no west currents, but... a north wind. High above my head, yes, but within reach. And I did love the northerlies. 

I slowly began to wrap my mind around the north wind, encompassing it, bringing it all within my control. And then... well, you know how south winds are easy to heat up, right? North winds, logically, are easier to do the opposite.

So I coaxed the wind, cooling it down, and as it grew colder, it sank down quicker. I could feel it becoming more substantial, more heavy. A flicker of silver appeared in my vision-

And then one of the Loki's cut me with his dagger.

A brief sting bloomed on my shoulder, accompanied by the sudden wetness dripping towards my elbow. "Focus, Gale," the three Loki's chided me.

"I am focused," I grunted, keeping control on the north wind, and finally pulling it down to my level, where it coiled around me. "Just not on you."

The Loki's shared an identical look of confusion right as I let the knife fall from my hands, and then raised my arms out to either side and hurled the north wind out with all of my might.

It exploded like a geyser. Silver streams of wind broke loose and slammed into the Loki's, knocking them back. The one ahead of me and the one on my right seemed to freeze for a moment before dissolving into a green shimmer that was quickly swept away by the wind.

The wind marks were aching to appear now. I could feel them pressing up against my skin, could feel the cold trickles of curling patterns forming- but I ignored them. I kept the pressure inside of me, and forced myself to turn it to driving the wind forward instead of manifesting.

Clenching my jaw, I slowly brought my right hand across my body, maintaining the barrage of wind as I focused it on the remaining Loki- the real Loki. He was leaning into the wind, trying to hold his footing, but I could feel him slipping. So I wound the north wind closer, and with all my willpower, ordered it to _freeze_.

The effect was immediate. The temperature of the air dropped at least fifteen degrees, and Loki raised his arms to cover his face. My vision was tainted silver, just like the wind roaring around me, and everything I saw was started to fade into shades of black and white-

Blue.

It took me a moment to realize where that color was coming from. The sky was too bright to be that shade blue, none of the guards were wearing any colors other than gold and bronze, and it definitely wasn't the little cluster of wildflowers that was growing in a crack on the stone wall.

Then I saw it.

Loki.

His hands that had been blocking the ice-cold wind were blue. A dull, frosty blue that was spreading rapidly up his arms and his neck. It coated his face, and pale ridges appeared on his chin, his cheeks, his forehead.

He was staring at me, just as shocked as I was. Neither of us moved- we were rooted to the spot, silence acting like chains that kept us in place. But there was something else, something strange written on his face that I'd never seen on him before. It wasn't until he blinked and his eyes came back blood red that I recognized it: fear. Fear and apprehension. 

Loki was... nervous. Of me seeing him like that. Like he had hidden that part of him away from every else to avoid persecution, and with just once cold wind, I'd torn the illusion of normalcy away.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I let the wind marks surface on my skin. They instantly began moving, swaying and shifting with the natural breezes that rustled through the courtyard. I felt my eyes grow cold, and knew that they were completely silver.

Both of us stood there, skin marked by blue or silver, eyes a different color, and to the outside world, appearing as something less than human.

Now Loki's fear was gone, and I saw him glance back at me uncertainly.

"Now it's a fair fight," I said in an even voice. "Ready, _vindya ar lai_?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**(Meanwhile, in the palace)**

Tony wasn't too sure how he felt about tapestries anymore.

Sure, they were nice the first couple times you looked at 'em. But two and a half days of just wandering around made tapestries kinda boring. Tony was also pretty sure he could name each one of them in every hallway near the guest rooms- he'd walked by them that much.

Stupid death matches. Stupid guards keeping them confined to the castle- although today they seemed to leave him alone.

Yeah, he'd been in a few fight-to-the-death situations, but none of them really encompassed Asgardians with thousand-year-old transgressions. Mostly just board members and the occasional lunatic trying to steal or copy his Iron Man suits. If Tony had to go up against Ullr by himself... it wasn't a nice thought to say the least. Tony wasn't sure how Gale hadn't wet her pants yet.

Gale. Her. The annoying one. The one who somehow managed to blow up every situation (not like he was one to talk).

Tony just didn't really like her that much. Sure, he let her stay in _his_ tower, eating _his_ food, using _his_ money. But something about her just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was because, despite knowing her- or about her- for almost four months, nobody really knew anything about her.

Besides her powers. And the existence of this superpowered community. And that she was Russian. And that she liked coffee way too much for her own good.

Okay, so they knew a bit. But in terms of Gale's personal life? Here's a check list:

Parents? Dead.

How they died? No clue. But Gale knew, and she obviously didn't want anyone to know.

That weird uncle that kept popping up? Vague impression of the 'fun relative', but whether he was alive or not was a mystery.

Home? Somewhere in Russia. No specifics.

Dogs? Yeah, she'd had dogs. Funny. Tony would've pegged her as a cat person.

Body count?

That was the one that worried Tony the most. Gale said she'd hurt people in the past. And Tony had gotten into her SHIELD file, and under Natasha's comments were the words 'killer's code' and 'there's the trust'.

Definitely no cause for alarm there.

Gale didn't seem like a murderer, though. Fifteen years old and about as skinny as a broomstick compared to the rest of them. Tony doubted she'd be winning any weight-lifting competitions anytime soon. 

Besides, even though she had more secrets than the Pentagon, and even though Tony didn't trust her... she seemed like a kid. A no-good, irritating, snot-nosed punk of a kid. For a while, Gale actually didn't seem too threatening.

And then there was the nightmare.

She'd screamed like the Devil was on her heels. It sent shivers down Tony's spine just thinking about it. Of course, Gale had thankfully been calmed down by Clint, but if she hadn't... she could've caused some damage in that freak-out session she was having. In that moment, Tony knew he was glad that she wasn't running around loose.

"You know, you've been staring at the creation of the Bifrost for fifteen minutes." Clint's voice came from behind him. "Surely it can't be _that_ fascinating."

Tony glanced at the other man, who came up to stand on his left. "I was thinking of getting one for Pepper," Tony shrugged. "The whole 'rainbow' thing would really fit the color scheme in her office. You know, centuries-old artwork tends to match everything."

Clint chuckled. "What's got you thinking?"

Tony focused back on the tapestry, and the woven figures hammering a bridge out of pure light. "Honestly? Gale."

"Oh."

"Yup."

"What about her?"

"Maybe the fact that she's gonna die the day after tomorrow, for starters. Maybe the fact that I'm gonna have to explain to Pepper- and Fury- about why we're coming back with the body of a teenage girl. Provided that Ullr leaves a body."

Clint sighed next to him. "She's in way over her head, that's for sure."

"She's being stupid." The words were out of Tony's mouth before he could stop them. "Completely stupid."

"She's got a shot, though," Clint replied evenly. "You saw her lose control in the alley, right? That's when she was weak, off her game, not in the most ordered of minds, and just out of a wheelchair. I've never seen her fight- like _fight_ fight- but I think she ain't one to be reckoned with."

Tony snorted. "You believe what you wanna believe. I say she's too headstrong."

"Headstrong?" Clint turned to face him with raised eyebrows. "Coming from Tony Stark?"

He rolled his eyes. "I've got the years and the metaphorical wisdom that comes along with it. She's a _kid_."

"Eh, she can still kick your butt."

"I'd like to see her try. Besides, it wouldn't be a fair fight- she's all juiced up or whatever from being here. You heard what she said, right?"

"Ley lines, magical city, lots of power." Clint shrugged. "I got the gist."

"Yeah. This place is good for her," Tony reasoned. "But I dunno. It doesn't feel right to me. Everything's so..."

"Golden?" Clint cracked a smile.

"I was gonna say perfect, but sure." Tony shifted, putting his hands in his pockets. "Ever feel like something is just _waiting_ to go wrong?"

"You gotta relax," Clint told him. "I mean, yeah, there's gonna be a _death match_ in two days. That's probably why you're so apprehensive."

"Maybe you're right. I just can't shake this feeling that-"

"Excuse me?" A new voice came from behind both of them, cutting their conversation short.

Tony and Clint both turned around and saw a young Asgardian man, dressed in brown and holding a tray in his hands. There were two glasses and a pitcher resting on it.

"Pardon my intrusion, honored guests." The servant bowed his head as he spoke. "But the kitchen staff sent me with refreshments, in case they would be to your fancy."

Clint raised his eyebrows at Tony. "See? I told you. Everything's fine." He took poured himself a glass of what appeared to be whiskey or cider and set the pitcher back on the tray. The servant turned to Tony, but he waved a hand in refusal.

"I'm good," Tony told the servant.

"Are you sure?" The servant asked. "The chef insisted-"

"I'm good."

The servant bowed his head once more, and left without another word. Clint glanced over at Tony, looking amused as he sipped his glass. "I don't think I've ever seen you refuse a drink, Tony."

Tony rolled his eyes once more. "I've got things to think about. Like how do they engineer the doors to be so silent? And how do those skiffs fly in the air?"

"Magic, Tony. It's magic."

"I didn't think you believed in magic." Tony frowned.

The amused looked wore off of Clint's face as he stared at the tapestry ahead of them. "Yeah, well, I got brainwashed by a scepter-wielding god. That tends to give a person perspective."

There was an awkward moment before Clint spoke again. "And besides, do you think what Gale can do counts as science? It seems a lot like-"

Clint broke off coughing. Once he regained his breath, he tried again. "Seems like-"

Another bought of coughs took him over, this one much more violent than the last. Clint's eyes started to water. Tony took half a step towards him, unsure of what to do. "Clint? You good?"

Clint was still coughing, but now he was doubled over. The glass he was holding fell from his hands and shattered on the floor. When the liquid inside touched the gold etchings in the floor, it hissed and began to smoke. An acrid odor began to fill the air.

"Shi- I need some help over here!" Tony shouted out into the hall, before grabbing Clint's shoulders. "What's wrong? Can you breathe?"

Clint couldn't stop coughing. His hands scrabbled at his throat, as if trying to relieve whatever was choking him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face beginning to turn blue.

"Come on, buddy, stay with me." Tony hurriedly told the man. "You're gonna be all right."

There were no footsteps, no sound of approaching guards. 

"I need some help!"

Still nothing.

" _Help!_ "

Author's Note: MWAHAHAHAHA

Translations (everything is Erui Lammen unless stated otherwise):

 _Lend na haer_ : Journey to Beyond

 _halla lai_ : tall green (descriptive nickname)

 _lai ingóle_ : green magic (descriptive nickname)

 _mista ince_ : can be 'grey bird' or 'small grey', functioning as a slight against someone's height

 _vindya ar lai_ : literally 'blue and green' descriptive nickname) 


	29. Iron grey marks

My skin was still swirling, even though I hadn't been fighting for going on two hours. Silver curls lined my bare arms and ventured up my neck, shifting like serpents. Add that to the death glare my face was resting in, and I was surprised people didn't run from the room. At least I wasn't summoning powerful winds- yet.

There was, however, a steady pulse of breezes around my body. They hovered about three inches above my skin, just close enough for me to feel them physically- and for others to feel them too, hence the rest of the people in here staying a good ten feet away from me.

Nobody was talking- not Rogers, Dr. Banner, Romanoff, not even Stark. We all just leaned up against the walls, since there weren't any chairs in the room. The only sound was a quiet hum as the two Asgardians next to the table worked.

Barton was on the table. Lying down, face up, eyes closed and not moving. The glowing outline of a human body floated above him, red lines tracing his veins, and the Asgardians were focused on that- altering minute details, shifting little discs of golden light around. I tried to avoid looking at them. It didn't help my nerves.

When the guards had burst out into the training circle and interrupted the ongoing skirmish between Loki and I, I knew there was something wrong. The second that Barton's name and the word 'poison' registered, I was already racing down the hall- only to be led here, where time and silence seemed to grow heavy and thick.

It took all of my willpower to keep myself from marching through the palace and driving a goblet down Ullr's throat until he choked. For now, I had to make do with standing here, trying to keep myself from lashing out at the slightest of movements.

Then the Asgardian healers stepped back from the table. Immediately, everyone in the room looked alert.

"Is he okay?" Romanoff demanded before the healers could speak.

They shared a glance. "He will be," one said tentatively. "But for now, we placed him in a temporary sleep. Thankfully, he only ingested the barest amounts of the poison. If the guards had not brought him here a moment sooner, or if he had taken the entire dose... his body would already be cold."

"So there's no doubt," I said in a low voice. "It was foul play." The adults looked to me, unsure of how I would proceed. I ignored them, and focused on the healers. "When will he wake up?"

"Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Once the rest of today and the night have passed, his body will be able to function by itself, without help."

Dr. Banner frowned. "Help? It seems to me like he's just there. Where's the medical equipment? The tools?"

"It's a Soul Forge," the other healer replied. "There are no... tools."

Before it could turn into an argument, I cut in. "It runs on magic, Dr. Banner, not science."

Stark shrugged casually, but his eyes were still dark and set. "Magic is just science we can't understand yet."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "Find a scientific explanation behind my legacy, then call me."

Then the lone door to the room quietly opened, and a young serving girl poked her head in timidly. "Beg pardon, honored guests," she started. "The Allfather requests your presence in the main hall."

"What now?" Rogers shook his head. "Is he going to kick us out?" He muttered the last part under his breath, but I still heard.

I didn't look back at Barton as I shuffled out of the room, and I didn't bother to see if the others followed me. I just knew that I needed to do something, anything- and this was just the first thing to happen.

I followed the serving girl down the golden halls, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the grand windows. For a tiny thing, the girl sure moved fast- I was power walking just to keep up with her. So it didn't take to long to reach the main hall- not long at all.

The gigantic bronze doors were cracked apart, so the serving slipped between them with moderate ease. I, on the other hand, let go of the winds that were circling my body and threw the doors open wide with bang.

Odin was sitting on his throne at the other end of the hallway. He looked up at my sudden entrance, obviously halting a conversation with-

Ullr twisted his head back to observe me. He gave me a flash of a shark's grin, and then faced back towards the king. He was dressed in his dark hunting clothes, but I could see even darker stains on the fabric and on his skin- blood. My vision tunneled, focusing solely on that _úan_ of a filthy rabid-

"What the _u_ _dún_ did you do to him?" I snarled, marching up towards Ullr.

"I have no idea as to what you speak of," Ullr replied smugly, refusing to even look back at me.

I was close enough to him when he said that that I lunged for him, intent on ripping that smirk from his face.

"Whoa!" Someone grabbed my shoulders, preventing me from reaching Ullr.

"Let me go!" I snapped, trying to break free.

"Gale!" It was Rogers, I realized, who was restraining me. Figures. "Get a hold of yourself!"

I saw Ullr's shoulders ripple ever so slightly, concealing a chuckle. "Follow the soldier's advice, _hén_. We wouldn't want the conditions of the _gurth coste_ to be violated, now would we?"

I made one last attempt to break free of Rogers' hold before he spun me around so I wasn't facing either of them. "That's an order, Gale. Take a breath."

He finally let go of me and I jerked away. Turning back so I could face him, I shot the man a glare. Rogers raised an eyebrow at me. "Act like an adult, Gale," he cut me off before I could back-talk him. "Think about it. Fighting won't solve anything."

"But it'll feel great."

" _No_."

I glared mightily at Rogers, who, to his credit, didn't even blink. After a few seconds, I threw my hands up with a frustrated noise and looked away from him. "Don't order me around. I'm not a soldier," I huffed.

"No," Rogers agreed. "But if I have to treat you like one to get you to listen, then so be it."

Odin pounded the end of his spear on the floor, making the hall quickly fall silent- not that there was much noise in the first place. "Quiet," Odin said gruffly. "I will not tolerate disorder in my hall."

"Apologies, Allfather," I replied clearly, still tense. "I assume this meeting is about-"

"What happened to your companion," Odin interrupted me. "Yes."

I grit my teeth and bit my tongue, restraining another reply. If he wanted a quiet person, he'd get one- but not for long. 

"Excuse me for bringing this up," Romanoff began with barely concealed hostility. "But shouldn't _he_ be in a dungeon by now?" She jerked her head at Ullr, who was still facing forward without a care in the world.

Odin paused for a moment, searching for the words. "Ullr is... not convicted of any wrongdoings against you and our companions."

"What?!" Stark near shouted, taking a couple paces forward so he was level with me, Rogers, and Ullr. "Clint was _poisoned_ \- I would be too if I'd taken a drink!"

"I am _deeply_ saddened to hear of your friend's poor state of health." Ullr looked straight at me, eyes wide and innocent. "If there is anything I can do to be of assistance-"

" _You son of a_ -" I nearly went for Ullr's throat again, but Rogers took a half-step towards me and gave me a warning glance.

"However," Odin stated. "We did find the one responsible for this incident."

A door to the side of the throne, one that blended into the walls almost perfectly, was opened, and two guards marched out. They were dragging a servant with them, barely giving him time to find purchase on the floor.

"That's the guy who-" Stark started, a dark expression coming over his face.

"Served you and your friend," Odin finished. "He confessed to poisoning the drinks."

"He's not even-" Dr. Banner looked confused for a moment. "Confessed?"

I moved forward, coming face to face with the servant, trying to find any trace of fear or guilt in him.. He raised his head at me, and spat at me. I jerked back just in time, but the meaning behind it was clear.

" _Cin foeg baw tare na nin nadhor,_ " the servant chuckled.

The guards yanked the servant further upright, bringing his feet all the way off of the floor. "Who do you fight for?" Odin demanded, leaning forward.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ullr smirk.

The servant never broke eye contact with me as he spoke. "Asgard. I fight for Asgard."

Odin flicked his hand aside, and the guards began dragging the servant back through the door they came from. The servant didn't even try to resist- just looked at me, almost... proud.

"Ullr, you mangy-" Romanoff broke the silence. I saw an exasperated look come over Rogers' face at the prospect of restraining _two_ angry Russian females, but Romanoff took a deep breath and settled on glaring mutinously at Ullr.

"This can't be legal," Dr. Banner started, looking directly at Odin. "This is enough to stop the match, or at least disqualify Ullr-"

I crossed my arms and tried not to glance over at Ullr. "Actually, it's not."

Stark turned to me with his eyebrows raised. "Sorry, excuse me? I- Gale, are you feeling all right?"

"He can't be disqualified," I said clearly. "The servant didn't accuse Ullr of conspiring to poison you, and even if he did, it's not against the rules of the _gurth coste_."

Rogers looked at me like I was insane. "That can't be-"

"It is," I interrupted. I finally looked at Ullr, who was smirking at me. "If Ullr touches so much as a hair on me before the fighting starts, he forfeits the duel- and his life. The rules, however, don't say anything about harming companions."

"Once again," Ullr spoke up, voice seemingly gentle. "May I express my condolences to the situation of your friend-"

"He's not my friend-" The anger building up in me spilled over the top, and I felt the familiar rush of the wind marks on my skin. They didn't appear all over in their usual fashion- instead, they coiled around my forearms and circling my fingers, making my skin itch.

"Gale, I wouldn't get too agitated if I were you," Ullr advised. "It would be quite... unfortunate."

I stalked straight up to Ullr until we were toe to toe, and looked him straight in the eye. " _Ni indóme n- i er ana tyelde tye_. I will be the one to end you, Ullr. This I swear."

Ullr grinned savagely, and leaned in close enough to me that I could see the gradients and patterns of black in his eyes. "Oh, Gale, descendant of my magic," he chuckled lowly, and I saw a glimpse of pure cruelty flash on his face. "I'm sure you think so. But..."

Ullr held a hand out in between us, palm up. And then, in an exact mirror of my own, elegant lines spread across his skin. They curled and shifted, an iron grey that seemed to pierce the fair skin around it. And in the center of Ullr's palms, the marks pooled and shaped a rune- _eihwaz_.

My blood ran as cold as the wind marks that flickered and faded from sight in my horrible understanding.

"You may be the blood of my blood," Ullr hissed, drawing my wide eyes back to his. "But you are human. And I... I am a _god_. I created you, Gale. I crafted your existence. I can just as easily snuff it out."

With that, Ullr stepped back, all traces of malice suddenly gone from his face. He looked back up to Odin. "Forgive me, Allfather, but I would like to return to my preparation for the _gurth coste_."

Ullr turned around smoothly and walked out of the hall, his footsteps making no sound. I just stood there, staring at the spot where he stood, trying to wrap my mind around it all.

"This meeting is adjourned," Odin said as he stood up. "I would advise you all to return to your rooms until further notice."

Odin walked out of a side door behind his throne- the amount of small entrances to the throne room seemed virtually endless at this point. The other humans and I were left in the golden hall, alone save for the usual post of guards that stood by the main set of doors.

Someone put a hand on my shoulder, and before I could stop myself, I flinched away. Whirling around, I began to throw a quick wind at whoever it was- but stopped and made it dissipate just in time before it hit the man there.

"Gale," Dr. Banner said slowly. "Are you all right?"

I broke eye contact with him and took a breath. " _Near ha eriol,_ Dr. Banner."

His concerned expression faltered just a bit. "Gale, I- I don't speak that language."

"Yeah, well, everybody else seems to know it just fine!" I threw up my hands, my voice ringing in the empty space. "Loki, Ullr- Queen Frigga probably!"

"Gale-" Dr. Banner tried again.

"And I've lost the last day of physical preparation! Now all I've got is tomorrow and that's only mental prep and I can't even begin to _think_ about centering myself-"

"Gale!" Dr. Banner raised his voice. It was effective, to say the least- I broke off my rant, and I could see Romanoff, Rogers, and Stark all look slightly worried.

Dr. Banner cautiously took a step towards me. When I didn't flinch again, he continued talking. "Gale, I know that this is all hitting you hard. You can admit it, you know. That it's difficult. We can help, just tell us what to do-"

"Stay away from me." I shook my head.

Dr. Banner sighed. "That's what I'm talking about. Like I said, we can-"

"Help?" I let out a short, brittle laugh. "You guys don't get it. You can't- you don't-" My fingers twitched, wanting to do something, anything, to distract me. "Look at Barton. He nearly died just because he happened to be _here_ with me. What makes you think you're safe? No... the safest thing for you to do is to _stay away_."

The adults all looked at me in varying degrees of mild surprise, skepticism, and exasperation. "Kid," Stark began.

Romanoff elbowed him in the side. "She doesn't like being called that, remember?" She muttered.

"Gale," Stark amended. "If that's seriously our best option- and I'm gonna go with your judgement on this one, because I frankly have no idea what's going on- then... there's not much else to do. And you heard what Patchy Senior said- going straight to our rooms and staying there is probably the best thing to do."

I frowned. "Wait- you're... agreeing with me?"

Stark shrugged. "I'm not gonna make it a habit. But besides... you sounded awfully concerned about our well-being."

I glared at him. "I'm not."

Rogers cleared his throat. "How about I take Gale back to her room, and you guys check up on Clint before heading back?"

"What?" I bristled. "I don't need a _babysitter_ -"

Rogers raised an eyebrow at me. "Want to run that by me again?"

I huffed angrily, but didn't fire off another retort. "Fine." I stalked back towards the main doors. Once I slipped out into the hall, I started off in the direction of the guest rooms. Then another pair of footsteps began to echo closer behind me, insistent and with direction. I twisted my head around and raised a hand, with every intention of defending myself.

Rogers gave me a look. "I'm not trying to ambush you, Gale."

I rolled my eyes, and continued walking. Rogers sped up slightly and fell in step next to me. "Never hurts to be cautious," I muttered.

"Cautious? Sure. I think you're bordering on paranoid, though."

"Yeah, well, Ullr's going to kill me, so that's cause for alarm." I was deceptively calm. And I didn't miss the startled expression on Rogers' face.

"You said you'd fight him-"

"And if I lose, he kills me. If I, for some miraculous reason, actually win... there's still the countless Asgardians who agree with Ullr who _aren't_ bound by the rules of a _gurth coste_. Then there's the fact that I'm basically a grievous error of Ullr's. Then there's SHIELD waiting back in Midgard." I sighed as we rounded a corner. "The point is, Rogers, that odds are I'm not making it out of Asgard alive, much less in one piece."

I could feel Rogers giving me a look aimed directly at my realistic outlook on life. "If you go into a fight believing that you're going to lose, then-"

I stopped in front of the door to my room, and turned around to face the man. "Look, I don't need a life lesson right now. It's past dinner time, the day is gone, and I need to get as much rest as I can before tomorrow. Good? Good."

With that, I pulled the door open and entered the room- only to be stopped at the sight of another blonde Avenger.

Thor was standing by the table, somewhat awkwardly. He was dressed in his usual armor that seemed to pass for everyday clothes in Asgard, and his hammer was resting on the table. "Gale," Thor began. "I-"

"Save it." I walked over to the balcony and took a peek outside. Other than a couple people walking through the streets below, the city seemed to already be settled down for the night, even though the sun had just barely hit the horizon.

"Thor," Rogers said from behind me, startled. "I didn't expect to see you."

I scoffed quietly. "Surprised? Don't be. He hasn't been around since the first day."

"About that... Gale, I would like to explain myself-"

I turned around and gave Thor a glare. "And I said 'save it'. If you can't be bothered to show up after Ullr just got one of you buddies poisoned, then don't bother coming here."

"Gale." Rogers said sharply, taking a seat at the table.

I threw up my arms. "Who asked you to order me around? No one. The answer to this rhetorical question is no one."

Thor interrupted my mini-rant. "I cannot aid you directly, Gale, because as a member of the royal family, being biased towards either competitor would not be taken lightly."

Rogers and I rolled our eyes in unison. "Politics," we both muttered.

I sighed heavily, and slowly went over to the table and sunk down in an empty chair. Resting my head on my arms, I stared at the table's surface. "I get it, Thor," I said wearily. "I'm just... it's like every time I've got something good, life obviously thinks I'm joking and screws it up."

"What happened to Clint isn't your fault-" Rogers began.

I gave him a look. "Seriously, Rogers? That's BS and you know it. Just because Barton happened to be around me, he got hurt. Which begs the question- why are you still here?"

Thor looked a little uncomfortable. "I apologize for overstepping-"

"Not you. You can sit if you want. I'm talking to Captain Sunshine over here."

Thor hesitated before sitting down across from Rogers, who shifted in his seat. "Gale," Rogers started. "You've been acting... off."

I raised an eyebrow, slouching back in my chair. "Really? Wow. Couldn't be the fact that I've got a death match day after tomorrow."

Rogers drummed his fingers on the table. "No, you listened to me- in the main hall. It was the first time that you actually listened to any of us. And it's... you're fifteen, Gale. And I don't know why I didn't figure this out earlier."

I sighed. "Rogers, if you don't start making sense soon, I'm gonna give up and get some sleep."

Rogers tilted his head, a calculating look in his eyes. "Gale," he said sharply. "Sit up straight."

I didn't even think about it. I straightened my back and shifted towards the front of my chair. My hands snapped to my sides and I faced forward, perfectly at attention.

It took me a second to realize what I'd done. I looked over at Rogers with a glare. "Not cool, sunshine, not cool."

Thor was glancing between me and Rogers, obviously confused. "I am afraid I do not understand."

Rogers was still looking at me, but this time only with a sort of heavy understanding. "You only do what I say when I order you," he said quietly. "And then you do it without hesitating."

I fixed my eyes on the surface of the table, still upright in my seat. "It doesn't concern you, Rogers."

Rogers shook his head. "No, it does. Because it means that you were treated as a soldier. You're fifteen. Who would do that to a kid?"

I abruptly stood up and started walking back towards the bed chamber, leaving the two men behind.

"A child warrior," Thor spoke from behind. "Here, children are taught how to defend themselves from an early age. Is that... customary in Midgard?"

I was at the door when Rogers replied. "No. It's... it's not."

My hand was on the doorknob when Rogers spoke up again. "Gale... was it your parents?"

A dry chuckle escaped me. "No," I shook my head, not facing him. "By then they were... it wasn't them. But a word of advice, Rogers- don't get worried over me. I can handle myself."

I opened the door and vanished into the bedroom. The room was dark, like usual, and I only bothered to slip into pajamas before sinking onto the bed.

Tomorrow was the last day. The last day before Ullr would try to kill me.

And Barton was unconscious. And Rogers was prying into my life. And Stark and Dr. Banner and Romanoff were somewhere else. And Thor couldn't be seen helping me.

Fifteen years of life, and they could end in less than two days.

Jesus, I was homesick.

I just wanted something familiar right now. Something I knew, something I could run back to, to hide in and wait out the storm. But the storm would follow me, and everything would shatter and fall. Everything would spin in circles and eventually tumble down into darkness, deep as ink...

_"Gale."_

_He was standing in the middle of the room, hands folded behind his back. Dressed in an iron grey suit, the curls of ash blonde hair curling down just far enough to brush the collar. His pale blue eyes were fixed on me, and I had the sudden notion that he was staring at my soul, on the imperfect halves bound by wind._

_"Yes?"_

_I stood by the door, only a step into the room and unwilling to enter any further. I was only in jeans and a black shirt that was a size too big for me. Needless to say, I felt out of place in the man's office, where everything was hardwood and silver and glass._

_"The guards told me you simply appeared at the gates," he said. "It's the middle of the night. What is so urgent that you could not wait until the morning?"_

_"I... Alexei and I had an argument. And I... I ran out. I don't have anywhere else to go and... and I want to accept it. Your proposition. I accept."_

_"I am pleased that your common sense is still functioning," the man said calmly._

_"O-of course."_

_He tilted his head slightly. "Gale, you are to be thirteen in three days, correct?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Perfect." A flash of white teeth, and then the still facade settled back. "I have a guest room prepared for you. You needn't return to your estate anymore. My guards can bring anything you require back here. In the meantime-" He broke off, noticing my expression. "Is something wrong, ae'aiwenor?"_

_"I..." I chewed the inside of my cheek nervously. "Alexei-"_

_"Does not approve of our deal," he finished with a wry smile. "That much is obvious, Gale. But remember that Alexei is one man- and heavily biased, if you have read up on your family's history. And I am, of course, a councilman. Alexei... does not concern our agreement."_

_I hesitated. "Alexei... even though we argue, he is the only..."_

_"Family you have left. I know."_

_"So you understand why-"_

_"I understand but I do not approve." His pale blue eyes sharpened for a moment, but quickly softened into something that seemed gentle but put me on edge for some reason. "Your parents... such a tragedy. If I had only been there to help..."_

_I clenched my jaw. "I do not want your concern. I want to become a member of the Teneo. A full member."_

_The corner of the man's lips curled upwards. "I am aware of that, Gale. Therefore, as I am your superior, you will do as I say. Now, one of my guards will show you to your room. We'll discuss everything else tomorrow. Until then, hold your questions and concerns."_

_I frowned. "But Alexei-"_

_Quick as a flash, his hand flicked out towards me, and something cold and sharp cut into my cheek. Recoiling, I reached up to my face, and found that my fingers came back bloody. Eyes wide, I looked back up at the man, who hadn't made another move and was staring at me coldly._

_"Lesson one: you follow my orders without hesitation. If I tell you to sit up straight, you sit up straight. If I tell you to hold your questions, you hold your questions. Am I understood?"_

_"... yes."_

_"You will use my name when you speak to me, hén. That is an order."_

_"Yes, Konstantin."_

Author's Note: Super sorry for the huge wait- I'm working on multiple stories right now. On a happier note, the next couple of chapters will probably be quicker. Mostly because I'm super psyched that (ominous bassoon playing in the background) _Konstantin_ is finally making an appearance (ish). Hehehehe...

Translations (everything is in _Erui Lammen_ unless stated otherwise):

 _úan_ : monster

 _udún:_ *heck*

 _hén_ : child

 _Cin foeg baw tare na nin nadhor_ : roughly translated as 'You mean nothing to me, vermin'

 _Ni indóme n- i er ana tyelde tye_ : I will be the one to end you.

 _Near ha eriol_ : Leave it alone

 _ae'aiwenor_ : sky hunter (a descriptive nickname)


	30. Two stones and a patch of flowers

The next morning was cold.

I say that because the sunlight that filtered into the room was pale and thin, and if I closed my eyes, I could believe it was nighttime. 

Well, what else was I expecting? Summer was over- that's what the whole festival was about. Now it was autumn, and the nights would get longer and the winds would get colder and everything would explode in red and gold before dying.

I didn't like it.

No, I wasn't saying that I hated the winter and the cold. I loved it. I just didn't like the slow fall towards it. And that's what autumn was. The fall into winter.

I tried to think about the winter. About icy air that sunk into your skin with needle-points, about the frozen-over lakes, about the grey skies that looked like something had flown across the sky and left ripples in the clouds. I didn't want to think about autumn. I didn't want to think about the eventual tumble down before the ground comes up to meet it. I wanted the dark-lit days that stretched into each other, when you knew things were happening in the shadows and under the ice and the snow that you just couldn't see yet, but that just added to the on-edge wonder that came with knowing that something awful or magnificent would happen at any moment.

Then I told myself to stop thinking about winter. Because if there was one thing I wanted to avoid more than autumn, it was reminiscing things I'd probably never get to experience again.

I woke up early, much earlier than I had the past three days. The room was dimly lit, with the weak sunlight filtering in through the top. I stayed in bed for a while, though. The wood edges of the frame that came up to form the boat-like structure looked almost... insubstantial, I guess, in the pale light. Like they could fall back into mist at any moment.

But I couldn't stay like that, watching motes of dust dance from the bed. So I got up, and slowly went about getting ready for the day. Brushed my hair, changed into a loose shirt and a fresh pair of jeans, grabbed my boots, and took one last look around the room. The air didn't seem to move in here, like one second would last me a lifetime-

A lifetime. 

I had one day to remember all the good and the bad, all the memories, all the heartfulls and heartaches. A lifetime in a day.

I went over to my backpack that carried everything I'd brought here with me, and started dumping things out. All the extra clothes, the spare pair of shoes, the handful of pencils and pens and the odd notebook- it all went spilling onto the bed. Once the backpack was completely empty, I tossed a sweatshirt back into the bag, and zipped it shut.

I slung the backpack over my shoulders, and without a backwards glance, opened the door quietly and stepped out into the main room.

Rogers was sitting at the table, arms crossed and head tipped forward. Fast asleep. Figures. He was up the last two nights , and probably didn't get any rest yesterday what with the poisoning incident and all.

I walked quietly past him and towards the other door, and carefully closed it behind me as I entered the main hall. The usual pair of guards was stationed outside, and I spared them a quick nod but walked past them nonetheless.

I made my way through the gigantic hall, my boots softly clicking on the gilded floor. The morning sunlight was turning the gold on the walls to a gentle shine, like a fine layer of mist had been laid out throughout the palace.

Taking a small detour toward the kitchens, which were empty save for a couple of chefs bustling about, I snagged a small bit of food just enough to keep the hunger pangs away. After that, I looked around until I found another set of guards, and got them to lead me to the one of the exits of the palace. It wasn't a big exit, with the usual golden doors that reached the ceiling, but a smaller one that was meant for the servants and the guards.

Leaving the guards behind me, I stepped out into the fresh air, free from the confinement of four walls for once. The wooden doors behind me swung shut, and I was alone again.

This exit emptied out into a grassy area, with a stone path winding back around the corner. The city was to my back, and I couldn't see any buildings ahead. Instead, the imposing figure of the mountains loomed upwards, nearly casting a shadow over the palace. I'd seen the mountain range before, when we first flew into the palace from the Bifrost on the flying skiff. And that's how I knew where to go to spend my last day.

I began walking forward, boots crunched over the cold-stiffened grass, in the direction of the mountains. By my estimate, it was about six in the morning, or what passed for it in Asgard. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, and it fell on my right side, casting my shadow out ten feet or more on the left. Birds were chirping, the wind was rustling through the trees scattered here and there, and I could here a late-night critter scurrying to and fro throughout the grass.

I took a small path that led me to a stone bridge over a single back-road, and eventually out of the range of the palace. The path ended at a plateau that stretched out into the actual land of Asgard, behind the city and hidden from view by the bulk of the royal palace. The grassy plain stretched onward for about two miles before being broken up by the sudden presence of the mountains, without a tree or rock formation marring the flat surface.

I marched across the grass, which came up past my ankles. The chilly air nipped at my bare skin, but the quickly rising sun countered it with just enough warmth to keep me from pulling out the spare sweatshirt that was in my backpack. 

It took me twenty minutes to reach to end of the plateau, walking at a quicker pace than I usually sauntered around at- and then the rocks started.

I was able to make my way up the mountain by weaving around the obstacles for the first half hour, as the grass diminished to nothing, and only pebbles and dirt was left for me to walk on. But eventually, the rocks went from chair-sized to table-sized, and soon enough the boulders went way over my head.

By now, the sun was well over the horizon, but the presence of the boulders and scattered rocks blocked the light, so I was walking in shadow for most of the time, with the odd swath of sunlight that hit me every now and then.

Another hour passed, and now the terrain was rougher. I had to jump up over the smaller rocks, and climb over the bigger ones like I was back at a playground in some little kid school. I didn't take a break, though- I just moved slower when I needed to catch my breath, and then I'd resume my preferred pace when I felt like I wasn't going to collapse anymore.

But after two more hours of clambering over boulders and wishing I was more squirrel than human, the land evened out from the rock field, and I was left with a unobstructed view of the inclined slope that lead up to the peak of the mountain I was currently on. The ground had a layer of short grass growing back on it that was tough and scraggly. A couple rocks were scattered around, but none of them posed an obstacle.

I started walking to my left, not going directly at the mountain, but deciding to take a longer but more practical route instead. Seeing as there weren't any paths, I had to figure out where to go just by eyeballing the way- which meant I had to double back a couple times when the ground suddenly flew upwards steeply, or dove down to a small cliff.

As I went higher and higher, the grass got shorter and the rocks became more abundant once more- but instead of lying on the ground, they were the sides of the not-quite-a-path path I was taking. But as I glanced down at my feet every now and then, I noticed that little flowers were cropping up from the ground and in the crevices of the steep embankment that went far upwards on my left side.

I paused right in the middle of the not-path, and bent down to look closer at a little flower that was between my feet. The blossom was only as big as the center of my palm, with round yellow petals curving upwards, almost like a tulip. A tiny grin- the closest thing to a smile that had crossed my face today- came over me, and I gently plucked the flower from the ground, careful to keep it connected to the roots that anchored it in the dirt. Straightening up, I let the yellow flower rest gently in my hand, cupping my fingers so the breeze wouldn't disturb it.

I continued on my path. As I went higher and higher, and as I passed more and more flowers, I stopped every now and then to collect a particularly pretty one, and added it to my steadily growing bunch of them. I didn't take every flower I saw- I had to leave some behind, afterall- but I had about ten or twelve in my hand when my makeshift trail stopped.

The ground sprung upwards right in front of me, going up another hundred feet before the uneven surface tipped forward and blocked the rest of the cliff face from my view. Bits of rocks jutted out from the surface, creating tiny ledges that would be enough to stand on, but had no conceivable method of being approached. I couldn't turn back- there were no other paths to take. And I couldn't climb up the rock face with my bare hands, so that left...

I tucked the flowers inside my backpack, trying not to crush them, and then brought my hands back to my sides. Taking a deep breath, I reached out with my mind and briefly touched on the breeze that was circulating through the air. North wind. Good.

I coaxed it to speed up and circle around me, winder tighter and tighter with each passing second. The wind wasn't visible- that took a bit more energy than I was willing to use- but I could hear it humming from every direction. I could feel it racing over my clothes and skin. And just when the wind began to jostle, to bend, to push at the limits I imposed on it, I gave it a direction to go: up.

I lifted up into the air at a moderate pace- not like I was being shot out of a cannon, but just fast enough that I could still make good headway before the initial shock wore off and gravity caught up to me. I went up about fifteen feet before I felt the tug of resistance, and I quickly reached out and grabbed a hold of the rock face. My feet were crammed on one of the tiny bits of rock that stuck out just far enough for me to stand on.

Craning my head upward, I sighed as I realized that it would take quite some time to reach the top. I couldn't just fly past the entire rock wall. This close to a nightmare- especially one like I had in the theater- and with everything going on right now, I knew there was no way I could be ready for full flight by tomorrow. So wind-jumps it was.

I looked for the next ledge- above my head and a bit to the left- and tossed myself towards it with the wind. Then I went for the next one, and the next. It took a while to aim correctly- I may or may not have bounced off the rock wall more than a couple times- but the top of the cliff face grew closer and closer.

One last leap-

I soared up above the lip of the stone, and came back down a bit roughly on the solid ground. I stumbled a bit, trying to regain my balance, and as soon as I was sure that I wouldn't tumble backwards off the cliff, I looked up.

I was at the summit of the mountain, a barren stretch of earth that went about twenty feet both ways before dropping off. It was almost like someone had taken a cleaver and lopped off the point of the mountain, leaving this patch of land in its place. There was a good layer of rocks and pebbles on the surface but I'd wager dirt laid underneath, because there were spots of tough grass sprung up here and there. But oddly enough, there weren't any wildflowers.

And... there was the city.

Far below and ahead of me, the royal city of Asgard was laid out like a puzzle. The palace was shining bright gold in the sunlight, resembling the pipes of an organ, and for a moment I entertained the thought that the giant who cut off the top of this mountain had misplaced his instrument down there and forgotten to retrieve it, eons ago.

The sea rippled after the city, a mesmerizing swath of green-blue that dropped off into nothingness past the minuscule bronze sphere that housed the Bifrost gate. The rainbow bridge itself was like quartz, flashing different colors every other second. Everything was so colorful, so beautiful, so... untouchable... that it took my breath away.

I don't know how long I spent there, standing and turning my head and taking in the golden city, the green-blue sea, the pale sky, the endless mountains and forests that cropped up behind me.

But eventually I came to my senses, and I carefully walked to the very edge of the summit that faced the sun, which was almost straight overhead. I kneeled down there, tucking my legs underneath me, and slung my backpack onto the rocks beside me.

I reached forward and started clearing the rocks away, digging down until I reached the dirt under them. Once I had cleared a sizable area and gotten a couple inches into the earth, I leaned back and took the flowers out of my backpack. Some of them were a bit flat, but their roots were all still intact for the most part. 

I took the flowers, one by one, and placed them petals-up in the dirt, and then gently scooped the dirt back around the stems to hold them in place. I did this for every flower, making sure to give each one suitable growing room. When I was finished, I set the stones and pebbles I'd moved back around the patch of flowers and dirt in a neat circle.

I rifled in my backpack, and at the very bottom, my fingers scraped against a single pen that'd been semi-hidden before. Taking it out, I quickly snapped it in two, and before the ink could spill out into the ground, I summoned a little breeze and shaped it around the ink, preventing it from falling.

I slowly brought the ink, seemingly hovering in the air, over to the smooth rocks that lined the patch of flowers. There were two stones, each about the size of my palm and of a relatively even shape. I let the ink come down on each of them, but let it touch the stone in lines that I gently guided. Once the ink had stained the rocks, I moved the remaining drips of it off to the side and let them fall on the ground.

The two rocks that I'd selected now had markings on them, simple enough that they were cleanly made:

Dagaz and Mannaz.

Day and Man. Hope and support.

"These are for you," I whispered, not daring to speak louder and risk my voice cracking. "I thought the flowers were pretty. Like the ones in our garden, the ones that would stay bright even in the winter."

Mother and Father.

The stones did not respond.

"Tomorrow's a big day. I have to fight Ul- our... our ancestor. I've gotta fight him tomorrow, and I know that he won't hesitate to kill me if he gets the chance."

Wind whispered harshly all around me.

"I know, it's... it's been a while. Seems kind of silly too, seeing as if I die tomorrow I'll be talking to you real soon. But..."

_"I love you very much, Gale."_

_"Never forget that, dearest daughter."_

"If you don't want to see me, it's okay. I understand. It wouldn't be unjustified. Not after... not after what happened."

The stones remained silent.

I stood up, swaying slightly from the sudden change in balance. Grabbing the backpack, I slung it back over my shoulders, and turned around to start the trek down the mountain.

But right as I was about to take a step, I heard a deep rumbling sound, and the ground beneath me seemed to shift. What the- did Asgard even _have_ earthquakes? I didn't move, waiting to see what would happen next- but if the rocks started falling over the side, I didn't care how much energy it took. I was gonna get down the mountain in one piece, flying or not.

And then, right in the center of the flat surface of the mountain that I was standing on, the ground seemed to fall inwards into a tunnel or a hole of some sorts. Then something large flew out of the hole, and before I could even flinch, it landed right at my feet. With an oddly out-of-place slurping sound, the hole filled back up, and in less than a second, everything was back to the way it was: the ground wasn't shaking, there were no weird noises- but the thing that'd been flung out of the hole was here.

It was a bag that came up to my waist, and was just as wide- like a burlap sack, except made out of leather, with a drawstring cord. It was full of something- or several somethings- and the things didn't look too friendly, judging from all the sharp angles poking out from the sack. Other than it, it just sat there.

I stared at the bag. It didn't move.

"Uh..." I said out loud, not really expecting an answer.

The bag didn't reply.

"Is this normal? Like, do things randomly pop out of the ground here in Asgard?" I said as I approached it. Carefully (because this was Asgard- it could be a magical bomb that turned people into pigs for all I knew), I loosened the drawstring and opened up the bag.

Inside was a bunch of... scrap metal? There were dozens of pieces of metal, in various shapes in size but none of them looking like they were supposed to actually _be_ something. Bronze, iron, and what looked suspiciously like gold glinted in the light.

So apparently Asgard liked to give gift bags to random passerby via earthquake and bunny hole.

And just when I thought things were fine, the ground started to shake again, and I immediately stepped back from the bag. But the rumbling didn't seem to loud this time, and no gaping pit appeared in the ground like before.

When the noise stopped, I pinched myself. Yup. Definitely happening in real life. 

"I hate Asgard!"

I startled as I heard a voice coming from below, somewhere down the side of the mountain. Cautiously, I approached the edge, and peeked over.

Way below me, past the near-vertical rock face I had to 'fly' up, was a person. They were standing on the ground, hunched over in a way that I couldn't see any of their face, and appeared to be grumbling to themselves. They were dressed in dirty clothes, though, and I couldn't tell what colors were supposed to be there in the first place.

"Of _course_ it had to be Asgard, out of all the other _eight_ realms it could've landed in." The person muttered crossly, peering around the area. "I told Sindri not to use the old trash chute, but _no_ , he couldn't be bothered to walk all the way to the front of the forge."

I glanced behind me. The sack of spare parts slumped there, looking slightly dejected.

"And Eitri just _had_ to skip off to Vanaheim for a conference with the stupid-" The person broke off. "Where _is_ that bag?"

Before my better judgement could make an appearance, I leaned back over the edge and called out. "Excuse me- you looking for a big leather sack or something?"

The person's head shot upwards, and I was greeted with a face obscured with a rough black beard for the most part. Their eyes flew open when they saw me, and I swear they made a little growling sound when they did.

"Asgardian!" The person grunted, and shuffled toward the cliff face.

"Um- wait a second-" I tried to get their attention, but before I could get very far, the ground began to rumble once more. I quickly backed away from the edge, towards the middle of the ground. 

A second hole appeared, on the other side of the bag from me. A scarce moment later, the person popped out of it like a gopher, and the hole zoomed shut. I stared at them. From this close, I could see that their clothes were more than dirty, and torn along the seams in most places. And they were short. Like, _short_. Next to me _short_. They probably came up to my rib cage, and that's adding the mop of wiry hair.

"Of course it's an Asgardian." The person scowled at me, crossing their- no, _his_ \- arms. If this wasn't a 'he', I was gonna be extremely confused, what with the beard and the perpetual frown.

"Excuse me?"

"As-gar-di-an." The scruffy old man enunciated each syllable. "You know- _your kind_. How do I say this politely... stuck-up, arrogant twits who can't tell a blade from their backside?"

I raised my eyebrows. "That's polite?"

He pointed at me. "See? You've proved my point."

"Whatever. And I'm not, by the way."

"Not what?"

"Asgardian."

He peered at me. I leaned back slightly. "Say what, _litil knurlaf_?" The short man frowned.

I sighed. "You aren't from around here, I take it."

"Well, of _course_ not. Do you think that a filthy place like this could've made such a fine _knurla_ such as myself?"

"Sorry, a what? I don't know what it means."

" _Knurla_. Oh, _Helzvog_ , why did it come to Asgard of all places?" The man griped.

I was quickly growing fed up with this guy. "Alright, _ae adan_ , if you aren't going to stop complaining, then I'm just going to figure out what's in this bag and-"

" _Etzil_!" The short man shouted, and I froze in place, half turned to go take a closer look at the bag. "What did you just call me, _litil knurlaf_?"

I gave him a look. "You wouldn't know the language-"

"Of the first tongue of magic?" He raised an eyebrow. "I may not be fluent, but I know _Ilúve_ when I hear it."

I stared openly at him. "I thought _erui lammen_ wasn't commonly known. Is it often taught in Asgard?"

The short man snorted. "As if. Those baboons don't have any respect for the old ways of making magic. It's all ' _Oh, Brokkr, build me a ship that flies on clouds. Oh, Brokkr, Frey has a talking sword- could you whip one up for me in time for tonight's battle? Oh, Brokkr, why don't you craft more priceless items for me out of the most difficult materials to find and work with in the nine realms?_ " He rolled his eyes. "If I were to build anything that concerned them, it would be a impenetrable castle to hide from Asgard for an eternity."

"Okay," I said slowly, taking a couple of steps back. "I think I'm gonna get going now, if that's alright with you-"

"My bag!" Brokkr, I assumed, exclaimed suddenly and rushed past me. He all but pounced on the leather sack, and stuck his head inside of it, muttering as he did so. "Oh, the copper's all bent now, and the iron is barely even rusted- what was Sindri thinking?"

Brokkr pulled his head back out and turned to face me. "Child," he started gruffly. "My thanks for locating this for me."

"You're welcome," I responded automatically. "And I'm not a child. I'm fifteen."

Brokkr was silent for a moment, and then erupted into a fit of violent laughter. He cackled loudly, holding his stomach with one hand and wiping away a tear of mirth with the other. I looked on in slight confusion.

"Fifteen!" Brokkr cried. "Fifteen years of age!"

"That's what I just said," I replied, a bit miffed. "Hardly a child."

"Child," Brokkr continued. "I'm older than Odin's father, and his father, and his father before him. You think yourself an adult? It took me fifteen years to craft a single jewel in the necklace of Brisingamen, and there are thirty in total- not counting the gold chain. Not to mention that when your planet was in diapers, I was forging the Bifrost from pure light itself!"

"I get it, you're old," I grumbled. "Just take your bag and leave."

"I've no problems with that," said Brokkr cheerfully, and he drew the drawstring shut on the bag. But just as he tried to pick it up, there was a flash of light and Brokkr leaped away from it. "Sindri!" He hollered out loud, and followed up with an impressive trail of curses. 

"I... take it there's a problem."

Brokkr glared at me. "Well of _course_ there's a problem! Sindri put a lock on the bag! I can't move it now."

I glanced at the innocent-looking leather sack. "I opened it earlier. Doesn't seem to have a lock."

"It's a _magical_ lock, you imbecile," Brokkr sighed. "We're not exactly on good terms with the sons of Ivaldi, those _maggots_. They think that just because they're _gedthrall_ , they can walk all over the rest of us dwarves. So whenever we throw out the scraps of metal we don't need, they swoop in and steal them like common _thieve_ s. And if we don't keep watch over our forges, then they'll come in and do whatever they please!"

"So..." I trailed off, trying to put the pieces together. "This Sindri put a spell on your garbage so other people wouldn't steal it?"

"It's a highly specialized charm that's been modified to affect only dwarves- and it's not _garbage_ -"

I held up my hands in defense, afraid that if I said the word 'garbage' again that Brokkr would attack me- probably by going for something around his height, like my kneecaps. "Whoa, whoa, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

Brokkr sniffed, but didn't lunge for my knees. I took that as a good sign. "Well, whether you meant it or not, I can't possibly take this back to the forge now. Sindri's the only one who knows his way around these kind of magics, the kinds without metal or stone."

I sighed, and readjusted my backpack on my shoulders. "Well, have fun with that. I'm gonna hop down the mountain and try to find a place that _isn't_ prone to random earthquakes and dwarves that pop up like gophers."

I turned around, and got ready to summon up the winds, but then something tugged sharply on my backpack from behind. I lurched backwards with a startled "Hey!" and nearly fell over, but caught myself just time. Whirling around, I straightened up and glared at Brokkr, who had just pulled his hand back.

"Give me one good reason-" I snarled.

Brokkr pointed at the bag. "Carry it."

I broke off my ready tirade. "E- excuse me? _What_?"

"Carry it," Brokkr repeated, seemingly unruffled by my quite irritated expression. "I can't. You can."

I laughed sharply. "Sorry, you want _me_ to carry _your_ bag all the way to wherever your forge is?"

Brokkr shrugged. "I assume logic is one of your innate talents. Besides, unless you're doing something incredibly important right now, I suppose you'd want to avoid meeting the sons of Ivaldi who will undoubtedly come scavenging for this bag any moment now."

Well...

It's not like he didn't have a point.

I glanced back at the patch of flowers, surrounded by a ring of stones- two of which had markings set upon them. After what I just did, I needed to get myself back together. And I didn't want to meet any other people, especially not another dwarf like Brokkr. It didn't seem like it would take that long, either.

"Fine," I grumbled. "I'll carry your enchanted bag, but then I'm _gone_ , understand?"

Brokkr grinned. "Perfect."

I rolled my eyes, but walked over to the bag. I yanked it upwards, expecting it to resist- because magic, apparently- but it came up easily, and I adjusted my grip on the neck of the bag.

I looked around, remembering that there weren't any stairs. "Wait," I said. "How are we-"

Before I could finish my sentence, the ground under my feet disappeared, and I plunged downward into the earth.

A terrified yelp escaped me before I could stop it. Everything was dark and cold, and even though I couldn't see a thing, I could feel the dirt and the earth pressing in around me, making the air heavy. Brokkr's amused chuckle came from somewhere on my right, which did nothing to put me at ease.

I tried to pull my limbs inwards and have some semblance of control as I was hurtling down to God knows where, but it was useless. And just as I thought that maybe the fall would never end-

WHAM!

My body smacked into the ground at full speed.

I let out a groan, eyes still squeezed shut. Wherever I was- Brokkr's forge, Helheim, Disneyland- I just wanted to lay here and maybe get my heart rate slower than a hummingbird's wing beats per second.

"Having a bit of trouble sticking the landing?" Brokkr's smug voice came from above my head. I groaned again in response and remained motionless.

"Brokkr, why is there a child on the floor of our forge?" A second voice spoke, higher in pitch than Brokkr's and more nasal.

"Oh, Sindri, didn't you hear?" Brokkr sniggered. "She's _fifteen_. Not a _child_."

There was a chorus of hoots as the two dwarves laughed together. I finally cracked open my eyes.

I was lying on the ground of a cavern, with torches placed sporadically on the rocky walls that cast a yellowish light over everything. The cavern was tall, and roughly the size of Stark's party room in Avenger Tower. At the other end of the cavern, there was a massive hearth that stretched upwards for nearly ten feet. Littering the floor were several wooden worktables, covered with various heaps of metal, leather, stone, and tools.

Halfway to the ceiling, there was a ridge running along the wall, big enough for three Asgardian soldiers to walk shoulder to shoulder across. It ringed the forge, with no discernible way to get up or down from it. But there were round holes spotted up there, leading to more tunnels and darkness. High above everything, planted deep in the rocky ceiling, was a gigantic iron grate the size of a car- probably where all the smoke filtered out.

I pulled myself to my feet, wincing as my body ached from the sudden and vicious contact with the ground. Once I was upright, I felt someone snatch the leather bag out of my hand, which had been clutching it in a death grip.

Looking down, I saw another dwarf shuffling away from me, hunched over the leather sack that he now held. He reached a low wooden table and slung the bag on top of it. "Brokkr," Sindri called out, not taking his eyes off of the bag. His voice rang out in the large, empty cavern. "Why in the nine realms did you tunnel out of here so angrily?"

"Angrily?" Brokkr said from behind me. I moved to the side just to avoid him barreling into me, and he continued on towards a table that was adjacent to Sindri.

"Yes, angrily," Sindri repeated. Now that he and Brokkr were more or less side by side, I noticed that Sindri's hair was spotted with broad patches of grey, and unlike Brokkr, he had no beard. But their heights were the same, and the reddish tinge of their skin was noticeable under the torchlight.

"You sent the bag to Asgard, you fool!" Brokkr scowled at Sindri, who was fiddling with the drawstring of the bag. "Asgard! Home of the grand idiots who dance around on golden chariots!"

"Oh, dear," Sindri drawled. His pale eyes flickered in my direction before refocusing on his work. "Is that where this not-child came from?"

"My name is Gale," I spoke up. "And I'm not Asgardian."

Sindri chuckled. "Oh, really? I thought Asgardians tended to live in Asgard, which of course where Brokkr was griping about the bag ending up. Here, Brokkr, I undid my spell, _just_ for you." He waved his hand over the opening of the leather bag, and another little flash of light sprung up before vanishing. Sindri grabbed the bag with one hand, and with a surprising amount of strength that betrayed his appearance, flung it directly at Brokkr's head.

Brokkr reached out, quick as a flash, and caught the bag. He set it down on his table, opened it, and began pulling out various pieces of metal and sorting them into piles. "That's what this _litil knurlaf_ said when I met her." Brokkr held up an iron bar about the size of my arm. "Sindri, this is perfect for a _thark_. Why'd you put it in the rubbish bag?"

"Because it _is_ rubbish," Sindri shot back. "Pass me a _zirak_."

Brokkr plucked a thin tool off of a table next to him, and without looking up, tossed it in Sindri's direction. Sindri caught it easily, pulled a hunk of granite closer to him, and started inspecting it carefully.

"So this _hael haer_ isn't one of the _mel núr_?" Sindri spoke in a slightly lower voice, casting a glance over to Brokkr. Honestly, it was like I wasn't even here.

" _He ped-, he treneri- cin i with hen lammen_ ," I said loudly, giving Sindri a slight glare. "If she spoke, she'd tell you that herself."

Sindri's head shot up, and he stared at me with barely concealed surprise. "You- you speak-"

" _Erui lammen_ , less commonly known as _Ilúve_ ," I finished his sentence. "Apparently so."

Sindri leaned forward, his pale eyes practically bulging. " _Fascinating_ ," he whispered.

"So then, _litil knurlaf_ , where do you hail from?" Brokkr asked, no animosity in his voice. 

I shrugged. It couldn't be that bad to tell them. "Midgard. Earth, for us."

Sindri let out a cackle at the same time as Brokkr snorted. "Really?" Brokkr chortled. "Out of all the places you could pick, you choose _that_ Helheim of an excuse for a realm?"

I rolled my eyes. "My name is Gale, I came over on the Bifrost with the rest of the Avengers, aka the heroes of Earth, and somehow got myself mixed up in some nasty politics here."

The two dwarves kept chuckling for a minute longer, until they realized that I wasn't smiling. The grins dropped off of their faces abruptly. "Wait-" Sindri started. "You weren't actually _serious-_ "

But right then, a deafening _BANG_ came from the direction of the gigantic fireplace. The pair of dwarves nearly fell off of their respective benches, but were practically sprinting for the hearth by the time that I had brought my arms down from where I'd curled them around my head in reflex.

"What's going on?!" Brokkr yelled as the fire in the hearth leaped outwards. Smoke began billowing out, and I could hear the sound of something breaking inside the flames themselves.

Sindri had grabbed a bucket of water from the side and flung it at the fire. "Did you make sure to clean out the chimney?!" The fire spluttered for a moment, but then roared back to life, growing bigger with every passing second.

I ran over to the hearth, skidding to a stop behind the two dwarves. "What the-"

"QUIET!" They both shouted at me.

"I told you to make sure the airways weren't clogged up this morning!" Sindri continued, frantically looking for another bucket.

"YEAH, WELL-"

"BUT YOU JUST HAD TO VISIT THE BARMAID FROM VANAHEIM-"

"YOU WOULD'VE SKIPPED WORK TOO IF YOU'D HAVE SEEN HER-"

" _BUT I TOLD YOU-"_

"I DON'T THINK THAT MATTERS RIGHT NOW-"

"NOW OUR _ENTIRE FORGE_ IS GOING TO BLOW-"

"WE CAN FIX THIS-"

"IT WILL TAKE _FOREVER_ TO GET THE SMELL OF SMOKE OUT-"

"IT'S NOT THAT BAD-"

While Brokkr and Sindri were yelling themselves hoarse at each other, I was hurriedly trying to figure out how to _not_ die in a couple of minutes. The smoke was growing thicker and thicker, and I started coughing as it shot into my lungs. Seeing as the dwarves weren't solving anything, I'd have to do it myself.

I quickly picked up the barest of movements of air around me, and worked it up into a quicker state. Adding every scrap of what could become a breeze, I built up a single wind. I let it stretch out, letting it run around the edge of the humongous cavern, gathering speed. As soon as it was quick enough, I whipped it towards the steadily growing fire. The smoke instantly funneled out towards the center of the room. I kept moving the wind in a circular motion, and just when the fire appeared to lessen in its intensity, I flung it upwards at the iron grate in the ceiling with all of my might. 

The grate shook so violently that I thought it would surely burst from its hinges and go soaring up to wherever the air was supposed to filter out. But it held, and the plumes of smoke roared through it and out of the cavern. In less than a minute, the air inside the forge was clean (well, as clean as it could be in place like this), and the fire was no longer threatening to take over and roast us all alive.

I let the wind dissipate, lowered my arms, and looked over to where Brokkr and Sindri were.

They were both staring. A lot.

"You're welcome," I said in a bored tone.

"You-" Brokkr started. "You said you weren't Asgardian-"

"Fascinating!" Sindri cried out as he practically leaped over a worktable to get to me. He picked up my left arm and began inspecting it as intensely as he did with the hunk of granite. I was mildly confused, but Sindri obviously wanted a closer look at the hints of silver that were shifting under my skin- not wind marks yet, but if I'd used my legacy for a longer time, then they'd be fully visible.

"It's- it's a long story-" I tried to pull my arm away from Sindri, but he yanked it back down to him with surprising force.

Brokkr scuttled over to the hearth, grabbed a pair of tong-looking pinchers, and carefully pulled something out of the bed of coals that remained. Grumbling, he let it clatter to the table nearest to him. It was a melted, gnarled mess of brass that was ruined beyond repair.

"Now that that's out of the way," Brokkr muttered as he came back to where Sindri and I were standing. At this point, Sindri had produced that zirak thing from somewhere and was tapping the side of it along my arm, like he was trying to find termites in a wooden wall.

"Sit." Sindri ordered, pushing me down onto a bench. He plopped my arm on the table and shuffled closer. I wrinkled my nose as the sudden odor of fish washed over me. Positively lovely.

"We have time for a story," Brokkr continued, sitting down across from me and Sindri. He leaned forward, and I noticed that there were a couple of embers stuck in his beard. He didn't seem to know or care. "So, _litil knurlaf_ , tell us yours."

"Uh..." I trailed off. Sindri poked my fingers, and when I was quiet, he shot a glare up at me and did the little 'go on' hand gesture.

So I told them. About my powers, about what Ullr did thousands of years ago, about the _gurth coste_ and about how tomorrow was the duel. To their credit, Brokkr and Sindri barely interrupted while I was talking- only asking for details and clarification when I spoke of my legacy and how it worked. They didn't even seem bored- even though Sindri was giving a critical analysis of my arm, and Brokkr was fiddling with the ruined piece of metal that had been in the fire.

"And so I can't create wind," I wrapped up. "I can only... _encourage_ it. When I use my legacy for any sustained period of time- that's when the wind marks appear... and if I use even more power than that, usually when I'm in danger, my rune manifests on my hands. Hagalaz, that's its name. That and the wind marks usually go away after a couple of minutes, but ever since I've been here in Asgard, it's like... they don't want to submerge themselves."

Brokkr's eyes flickered up to me at that, but I barely noticed. "The marks sort of have a mind of their own," I continued. A slight frown appeared on my face. "And here they seem to be fighting me. I try to push them under, but they resist. Sometimes I think that if I let them stay on my skin, then they'll never go back under. In Earth, they're strange and foreign- but here, it's like they're trying to become normal, a permanent part of me from day to day."

"Well," Sindri spoke up, startling me a little. He'd been mostly silent this whole time. "Why do you force your marks to do something contrary to their nature?"

"It's not their nature to fight _back._ " I shrugged, a bit crossly. "They shouldn't react like how they do. They shouldn't push to resurface, or shiver up my spine, or hum whenever a breeze ripples past me. They're even dredging up old... memories."

"If it's not _their_ nature to do those things," Brokkr said slowly, as if deep in thought. "Then maybe it's yours."

You could've heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. I gave Brokkr an incredulous look. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Brokkr set down the twisted metal, and rested his elbows on the table. "You said that they fight to come back. You seem like a fighter. You said on Midgard that the person who walks with silver on their skin is a foreigner, but here, your body wants to revert to that with every cell."

Sindri tilted his head up, looking me straight in the eye. "You have a dual nature, _litil knurlaf_. From what I understand of your soul from your... _sparse_ description, you are being torn in two. Whichever realm you reside in, you will ache for the other. In the place where one appearance is normal, your body strives for that but your soul tries to balance it. You can't rest, can't know peace of mind."

I felt a shiver tickle my spine. "You sound like you know what you're talking about. How?"

Brokkr gestured to the cavern all around us. "Where do you think we are, not-child? We elder dwarves belong to no single realm. We couldn't bear being away from one of our homelands for long, and traveling doesn't work when you need a permanent work space. So we built this forge in the ground between Svartaflheim and Niflheim. It satiates our need to be near them, and no non-dwarf can tunnel in here. Private and convenient."

"So you two are..."

"More knowledgeable than most when it comes to split souls," Sindri finished my sentence. He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "Looks like you're not as special as you thought, _litil knurlaf_."

"I thought that the splitting of souls was brought into being by Ullr," I said quietly. "But you're older than him, right?"

Brokkr chuckled. "Splitting souls, yes. But it wasn't our souls that were separated- it was the land that we were born on. That hurts just as much."

Sindri stood up abruptly, finally leaving my poor arm alone. "Pretty handy, though, isn't it? Your whatchamacallit. Legacy. Power. Thing."

"I- I guess." I raised an eyebrow, not sure why the topic shifted so quickly.

"Brokkr!" Sindri barked, ignoring me completely. " _Hernskja wiol fyrn_. Grab the hammer."

"So soon?" Brokkr groaned, but got up from the table. "Fine."

"'Scuse me- what?" I raised my voice. "Anybody care to explain?"

Sindri rolled his eyes. "We're dwarves, lass. We build things. And because _somebody_ didn't do their chores-"

"I'm blameless!"

"- our first project was ruined. That talking duck will never waddle again. So, we need to get started on the next thing before we run out of daylight." Sindri snapped his fingers. A hole opened in the ground underneath him and he shot downwards. A second later, he popped up on the second level- well, the ridge along the wall- of the forge. Sindri hustled down one of the small tunnels, and I heard a series of clangs that sounded suspiciously like something was being knocked over.= a flight of stairs.

"Why does daylight matter?" I called out. "It's not like you can see the sun from in here."

Brokkr was already over by the hearth, clearing the clutter off of three adjacent tables. "It matters, _litil knurlaf_ , because you need to be back in Asgard before the sun hits the horizon, or there'll be too much of a hubbub. And if there's one thing I can appreciate, it's peace and quiet."

"Not that you give any in return!" Sindri hollered from somewhere in the tunnels. Before I could blink, he'd sprung out of the ground right besides me, arms full of various tools ranging from small hammers to chisels nearly as big as he was. Sindri bustled past me and plopped himself down at the right-most table that Brokkr had cleaned up. He started spreading out the tools, laying them out very neatly.

I held up a hand, still baffled by the amount of information I seemed to be missing and the speed at which the pair of dwarves were running around. "Whoa- what are you saying? Are you holding me prisoner or what?"

"Prisoner?" Brokkr snorted as he sat down at the table next to Sindri's. "No, we need your magic tricks."

Sindri swatted his shoulder. Brokkr sighed. "I apologize, to everyone who can do said magic tricks-" He lowered his voice to a mutter. "-and is insufferably sensitive about calling them _magic trick_ _s_ -"

"Oh, just because you never were able to refine the technique needed for delicate spell work-"

"It's entirely your fault, you screw my work up each time I get started-"

"And yet somehow you always defer to stone and metal, whereas I remain with the _finer_ aspects of material enchantment-"

I strode briskly all the way to their tables and slammed my hands down on them, making the carefully aligned tools on Sindri's table jump slightly out of place. Sindri took a deep breath and I swear smoke started to pour out of his ears, but I cut him off before he could get going. "What in the name of Helheim are you two talking about?"

"No need to raise your voice, lass," Brokkr said delicately as he turned up his nose at me. "All we're saying is that-"

"With the state of our forge at the moment-"

"No proper air circulation-"

"And let's face it, who hasn't had problems with that-"

"Not to mention the cooling system-"

"We were actually thinking about replacing the old-fashioned 'dunk-it-in-water-to-cool-it-down' method with-"

"Tubes of pressurized air, straight from Jotunheim-"

"But each time we try to expand our tunnels-"

"They seem to collapse inexplicably-"

"Bet a thousand red gold pieces that Ivaldi's sons have something to do with it-"

"Oh, you know they do."

"Cursed little-"

I cleared my throat loudly. "Getting off topic here."

The dwarves peered up at me owlishly. "What we're saying," Sindri started.

"If you'll let us finish," Brokkr grumbled.

"Is that a certain person with the ability to control the wind would be very useful at the moment," Sindri wrapped up.

I ran my hands back through my hair, trying to put my mind together. "Look, I get that you're behind on whatever schedule you've got, but today's the last day before the fight. I can't just drop everything and forget all about focusing on my powers and calming myself."

Brokkr grinned up at me. "You'd be using your powers in specific, concise ways. And besides, working always tends to clear my mind."

Sindri chuckled from my right. "That's because you don't have a thing in there to begin with."

Brokkr muttered a curse under his breath before heading over to the wall of the cavern. He came back pushing a wooden cart full of chunks of earth, stone, and dozens of metals that I didn't recognize. Without looking at me, Brokkr pointed to the last clear table, on the left. "Take a seat, lass."

I sighed. I couldn't just ignore the looming duel tomorrow, but the day had already begun, and what little plans I had were already out the window and on the road to Vegas. And... Brokkr had a point. I knew that doing something with my hands always put my mind at ease. So... would it really be that bad?

Brokkr seemed to sense my hesitation. "I promise you'll be back in that gods-forsaken excuse for a palace before you know it. Sit. Stay a while."

I slowly went over to the remaining table, and sat down on the bench somewhat awkwardly. Without warning, Brokkr picked up a lump of gold-ish metal and lobbed it at me. I barely caught it before it hit my face, and set it down on the table. "What was that for?" I snapped. 

Brokkr looked pointedly at the cart full of raw earth. "That's for you. Sort them into piles."

I peered into the cart, looking the contents over. "What kinds of piles? Size? Color? Tastiness?" When Brokkr didn't react, I gave him a wary look. "I'm kidding. I'm not going to lick the rocks."

"Put the metals in one place, the stones in another, and the sparkly bits in another. Then sort them into decorative and functional." Brokkr turned back to his own table, where he pulled out a hefty leather-bound book of some sort and laid it flat on the wooden surface. He pulled a charcoal pencil from his beard, much to my surprise and slight disgust, and opened the book up.

"And don't forget the color scheme!" Sindri spoke up from the other side of Brokkr. He had finished lining up his tools, and now was rushing to other various work tables and collecting a few bits and bops.

Brokkr chuckled. "Right. Sindri likes colors schemes. Just go with whatever catches your eye."

I shrugged. It wasn't exactly the hardest of tasks, was it? So I picked up a baseball-sized piece of what could've been a ruby, half-crusted in dirt, and set it on a different part of the table from the gold-like metal. And then I picked up the next thing, and the next, and the next, and before I knew it I was getting into a sort of groove.

Jewels in the corner, metals on the left, rocks on the right. Pretty things were towards the back of the table, and the functional things went in the front. Warm colors and cool colors were separated. Every now and then I'd find something that didn't seem to fit in any group, but I just lumped it in with one of them and moved on.

I didn't know how long I did that. It was hard to tell how much time had passed through the torchlight and the rocky walls of the caverns, the scratch of charcoal on parchment, and the odd sniff or cough from Brokkr or Sindri. But but the time that I reached the bottom of the cart, my entire table was covered.

I rubbed my palms on my jeans, wiping off a bit of dirt that had accumulated on them. Looking over at the dwarves, I saw that Brokkr had been sketching out a design in that book of his. I couldn't see it that clearly, but I saw various shapes and pieces that looked like they fit together nicely.

Sindri, on the other hand, was working with a miniature version of a spindle. He was carefully winding coarse thread through it, and it was slowly building up on a spool as a finer and silkier mass. A pile of folded leather sat beside him, along with a basket full of wool.

Nobody was talking at the moment, and I didn't feel like breaking the silence, so I turned back to my own table. I picked up a small purple crystal from the jewel section- only the length of my little finger and half as wide- and slowly turned it in the light. It glinted, reflecting the tame fire in the hearth. Out of curiosity, I held it so the flames stood at the back, letting the light shine completely through.

Inside the purple stone, I watched as dark fissures appeared, like crinkles in paper, tracing a pattern that looked almost like mountain ranges and ocean waves through the pale color of the light-filled crystal. My mouth hung open as I stared at it.

" _Mithrim_ _skul_ ," Brokkr's voice came suddenly from right beside me. I jumped a little, the purple crystal tumbling out of my hands, but Brokkr plucked it up before it could hit the ground. He ran the tip of his finger over it. "Not common. Not common at all. They're believed to be pieces of stars, fallen from the heavens when great beings, older than the gods, shook their spears and roared to the thunder. The color itself has a bit of superstitious purpose- red's for vanity, yellow's for gifts, green's for luck, blue's for stories, white's for royal blood, and black's for battle."

"And purple?" I asked, still seated.

Brokkr handed the gem back to me. "Purple is for vagrants," he said in an even tone. "Mind fanning the fire?"

I blinked in confusion for moment, before understanding what he wanted. With a flick of my fingers, I sent a little breeze towards the hearth, and the flames eagerly ate it up. Brokkr picked up a hefty hunk of dark metal from my table, and moved over to the hearth. He carefully pushed it into the hot coals, and brushed his hands off on his shirt. Well, at least I knew how his clothes got that dirty now.

"Keep the fire steady, lass," Brokkr told me as he turned to his own table. "I need that to be soft enough to shape, but not so soft that it melts."

"Roger roger," I replied with a little salute, and moved to the other side of the table so I could sit closer to the flames. Sure, it was much hotter over here, but I could get a better feel for how the air was from a shorter distance.

Over the next several hours, I kept the wind at an even pace as it circulated through the hearth and then out through the iron grate in the ceiling. Brokkr would give me slight adjustments every now and then, adding various metals to the coals and taking others out when he deemed them ready. Sindri was at his own table, busy with... whatever he was doing. It looked like he was weaving a sort of cloth, but every time I tried to get a closer look, Sindri's head would shoot up with a snarky retort on his lips.

After everything was heated up, Brokkr began using a hammer and anvil, and started flattening the metals out into more manageable pieces. I had a small break for lunch, which was just some bread I'd nicked from the kitchens this morning, and watched the dwarves work.

Nobody had actually spoken in at least an hour. Brokkr and Sindri just moved around each other like they'd been working together for thousands of years- which, I suppose, they had. But as I watched, I noticed something odd about how they were working.

Sindri would run his finger over every inch of thread he spun, and when he wove them together, he'd tap the sides of mini-loom three times before starting a new row. And when he did that, I swear that the thread glittered like metal for a brief moment.

And when Brokkr was busy crushing the life out of the fire-softened metal, he'd flip the hammer around in his hand every seven blows and switch hands every fourteen. And each time the hammer struck, the metal would glow a bit redder for a second, like the fire was being pressed out of it.

Sindri did mention magic. Maybe the dwarves had their own, special kind of it.

But I didn't have too much time to think about it. Before long, I was back on fire duty as Brokkr reheated the metals, beat them down, reheated them again, beat them down _again_ , and finally had me blow cold air at the blazing hot metals to get them to room temperature.

" _Litil knurlaf_ ," Sindri called out. I jolted upright in my seat, and looked over to him.

"Mm-hm?" I hummed, voice creaky from not using it for so long.

Sindri frowned down at his work, and then back up at me. "What did you call your rune? The one that appears with your wind marks?"

I tilted my head. "Hagalaz. Why?"

Brokkr made a little noise of interest from the anvil. "The literal representation of hail. Ice from the sky. Any idea why it's that one in particular?"

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "No. No idea whatsoever."

"Hmph." Sindri grunted. "Well, that's it. Time for you to leave."

"Already?" I asked, incredulous. "It can't have been _that_ long."

"It's been eleven hours," Brokkr added. "Sunset's right about now in Asgard."

I gestured to all the scraps of metal, rock, and thread around us. "But we're nowhere close to finished!"

"Correct!" Sindri stood up from his table and cracked his back. "We aren't. _You_ are."

Sindri hustled over to me and shooed me away from the hearth, into an area clear of worktables. "But-" I protested.

Brokkr set down his hammer. "Do you feel better?" He asked me directly.

"Well, I suppose-"

"The work did you good?"

"Yeah, but-"

"And you feel ready for tomorrow?"

"I don't think I'll ever be ready, but-"

"Then you should get back to Odin's silly palace with his silly guards and silly death matches." Brokkr picked the hammer up and went back to work.

Sindri took a step back from me. "Got your backpack thingamajig?"

"Yeah-" I tried to answer before he cut me off again.

"Then it was nice working with you. Because of the convenience of wind powers, not because you were easy to criticize. Well, that too." Sindri snapped his fingers, and all I could do was catch a snippet of Brokkr's chuckle before I plunged downwards into the ground once more.

This time wasn't any better. Screaming, flailing, darkness, the smell of fish- yup, in all its glory. But when I smacked into the grassy fields behind the royal palace- God, the fresh air was worth it.

I stumbled to my feet, brushing the dirt off my elbows and knees. Overhead, the sky was already turning dark, and the sun was almost completely below the horizon.

The wind picked up, hitting me and bringing a shiver with it. I allowed myself a moment to close my eyes and just take it all in- the crisp air, the feel of the wind on my skin, and the tired but happy feeling that comes with finishing a day of work.

This moment. This was good. The palace wasn't far away, but I could almost believe it existed only in dreams. The people inside of it too- I didn't have to worry about them right now. 

The only person I had to worry about was myself.

Really, it was only ever me against the world. Just me...

And two stones next to a patch of flowers on the mountain.

Author's Note: Writer's block likes to whack me over the head with a sock full of nickels and mug me in the alley, so this chapter obviously took much longer than necessary to get out. Super sorry about that.

On a more serious note, next chapter is the death match. So any input, any suggestions or comments- get them in before I get too far with the chapter.

On an even _more_ serious note: I have no ethical problems with causing extreme pain to my characters. You have been warned.

MWAHAHAHAHA.

Translations (everything is Erui Lammen unless stated otherwise):

Litil knurlaf (Khuzdul): little woman

Knurla (Khuzdul): dwarf

Helzvog (Khuzdul): god of stone

Ae adan: small man

Etzil (Khuzdul): stop

Gedthrall (Khuzdul): artisans

Thark (Khuzdul): staff

Zirak (Khuzdul): spike

Hael haer: 'side maker'- meaning 'someone who's a mild irritation' or 'something inconveniencing' 

Mel núr: Gold People- a descriptive name for Asgardians

He ped-, he treneri- cin i with hen lammen: If she spoke, she'd tell you that herself.

Erui lammen: first tongue

Hernskja wiol fyrn (Khuzdul): Armor for war

Mithrim skul (Khuzdul): literally 'star scale'


	31. Hagalaz

Author's Note: Okay, before we kick this chapter off and get to the inevitable horror that is my willingness to hurt my characters to the extreme, I'd like to share something that I found _very_ amusing:

Your comments.

I got the weird half-snort laughter when I read these. Seriously- you guys are awesome. So here's some of the ones that I've 'Ctrl+C Ctrl+V'd from the comments section from last chapter:

 **(TheLightBearer)**  
*gets awesome armor*  
*somehow dies*

 **(σf єαятн αиd ѕтαяѕ)** Here's a suggestion or two, don't betray my trust in you and don't crush my heart

 **(LaZPush33n)** (...) And then happy platonic relationship between Gale and Loki and CLINT IS ALIVE AND WELL

(re: the last comment- as opposed to... >:)

And there are loads more, but the thing I'm getting at is that most people just want me to be nice to the characters. Which, I'm proud to say, will happen as the story progresses. However, there's a (bleep)- ton of psychological damage to be done before we get there. Including this chapter.

But while I'm still on the topic of the goldmine AKA comments section, I'm bringing up something else. There's been quite a few people who've said the most heartwarming things about my writing- that my story inspired you to start writing yourself, that you can't believe this isn't a real book, that I actually use correct grammar (most of the time). So here's a big thank-you from me, because, let's be honest:

Stories wouldn't exist without something to tell them to.

With that- adieu.

(and you might want to grab Kleenex or something to hit- preferably a sibling, 'cause don't lie, we've all had the urges- because it's time for this death match to begin)

"You should eat something."

"Not hungry."

"At least try."

"Still not hungry."

"C'mon, Gale."

"I'm just not in the mood to eat."

Dr. Banner sighed from across the table. "As a doctor, I can officially say that not eating is a bad idea."

I hummed in response, not willing to commit to vocal retaliation. Before me lay a plate loaded with food that would normally make me attack it without a second thought. But I had the distinct feeling that if I did, I'd end up puking it up in an hour.

Dr. Banner tapped the wooden surface in front of me, drawing my attention back to him. "Look," he started. "I know you don't feel like doing _anything_ right now, but as bad as today is going to be, not eating will only make it worse."

If that happened, then at least I wouldn't worry about it for long.

"Gale." Dr. Banner said clearly. "Eat. Or I'll bring in everybody else, and then you'll have more than one person breathing down your neck about this."

I stifled a groan, and instead crossed my arms in front of me. The message was clear: I was gonna be stubborn on this one.

Dr. Banner raised his eyebrows. "Fine, then. I'm sure I can bring Nat over from her room across the hall, and Steve will be more than glad to make sure you're fully prepared for today."

Great. Stark, I could handle. Dr. Banner, a bit tougher but relatively easy. Thor, he was busy at the moment. But Romanoff and Rogers? I might as well sign my own last will and testament.

"Alright. If that food isn't half gone by the time I come back-" Dr. Banner stood up and moved towards the door.

"Oh no, what ever shall I do?" I said in a bored tone. Dr. Banner looked like he wanted to say something back, but shook his head in exasperation and exited the room.

I immediately got up and walked into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind me. I pulled my backpack out, and sorted through the mismatched assortment of clothes that I'd thrown in there. Jeans, sweatpants, t-shirts, and a lone sweater. Not much in the way of the proper attire for fighting to the death. But Thor did tell me that the guards would have something easier to move in waiting for me at... wherever the fight would take place.

I sighed. I felt like time was speeding by too fast, and if I dared to grab on for dear life- then I'd be flung so far away from all of this that I'd never see the morning sunlight again.

"Sighing? Really? Wow, I didn't know that your life had suddenly turned into a soap opera. But hey, if dramatically exhaling to an empty room floats your boat-"

As soon as I heard someone's voice speak loudly from behind, I whipped my head around.

Barton was standing there, leaning against the door frame casually. He was dressed in jeans and a purple t-shirt, and even though he was on his feet, I could see dark circles under his eyes. But Barton was grinning at me, and when I saw his face, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch upwards. "Barton!" I nearly laughed. "You're okay-" I cleared my throat. "I mean, it's- you're alive. Whoop de freaking doo."

Barton placed a hand on his chest and made a face. "You wound me, featherweight. What did I do to deserve such callous words from you?"

"Well, let's see. You shot me with an electric arrow-"

"Are you seriously going to bring that up every time?"

"Depends. Are you ever gonna stop being annoying?"

Barton snorted. "Kid, even in a different realm, surrounded by gods, you're still as sharp-tongued as ever."

"And that surprises you?" I smirked. "But... it's nice to see you. Before... you know..."

Barton's face instantly darkened. "I see _that_ hasn't changed," he muttered.

"So," I quickly changed topics. "When'd you wake up?"

"Uh, yesterday, 'round dinner time." Barton rubbed the back of his neck. "Steve told me that you'd snuck off early in the morning to God knows where, and by the time I was informed that you were back, you'd crashed in your room. And I know better than anyone the perils of waking you up when you need sleep, so Tony caught me up on everything that happened, and then I went back to my room."

"At least you're alive," I remarked. "Ullr wasn't fooling around."

"Yeah, thank God I only had a sip of that stuff before it kicked in," Barton chuckled.

I looked off to the sides of the room, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "About that..."

He frowned. "Whoa, serious face alert. What's up?"

"The- the guards," I muttered, not looking Barton in the eye. "I told them to leave you all alone that morning. That's why it took so long for Stark to get help. If I hadn't done that, then it might never've-"

"Stop. Hold it right there." Barton stepped forward so he was in front of me. He put a hand on my shoulder and leaned down slightly so the height difference wasn't too bad. "Kid, that wasn't your fault. It's Ullr's. You never poisoned me- he did. You got nothing to apologize for, pipsqueak."

"Yeah, but-"

"No 'yeah but's, you hear me?" Barton said firmly. "You're good."

I moved my shoulder back a bit, and Barton got the message to give me some space. He took a step back, and I let out a breath. "So," I started, trying to get my normal tone of voice back. "Why're you here?"

Barton's eyes widened, like he just remembered that himself. "Right, right- well, this isn't technically _legal_ , persay-"

"Marijuana?"

"Not in some states."

"And you're _familiar_ with those states?"

"That's not the point, featherweight. Jeez, Fury's gonna kill me for this-" Barton rolled his eyes, but took out his phone from his pocket. With his eyes still on the screen, he motioned for me to come closer. Confused, I did so, and then Barton grabbed my wrist.

"Hey!" I cried out, but Barton held his phone over the SHIELD-issued bracelet- the one that tracked me, monitored my basic vitals, et cetera- and taped a few things on the screen. With a little beep, the bracelet slid off my hand and to the floor. Barton quickly moved to the other hand and did the same.

"There we go." Barton stooped down to pick up the innocent looking bands, and shoved them in his pocket. I stared openly at him. "What?" He asked. "Look, you've had these on for more than a while, and if you're really going through with this fight... then I figured you might as well do it knowing that there's nothing even remotely SHIELD on you."

I still stared. Barton cracked a grin. "I know you're big on the whole 'freedom' thing."

"Uh..." I said, rather intelligently.

He clapped his hands together. "Right! Well, Bruce tells me that you're not eating."

I immediately let out a groan. "You're kidding me."

"Nope!" Barton said cheerfully. "C'mon, kiddo, you're not getting out of this one with your razor-sharp sarcasm."

So that's how Dr. Banner found us five minutes later when he walked into the room: me sitting at the table, grumpily shoving eggs in my mouth while Barton looked on, twirling an electric arrow between his fingers. Honestly, I had no idea how he fit those in his pockets. I swear they're magical.

"Oh." Dr. Banner grinned at the sight. "See, Gale? It's for your own health."

I managed to shoot a glare at the doctor while taking a gulp of coffee. "Barton threatened to shoot me. Breakfast has nothing to do with it. Besides-" I winced as I felt my stomach gurgle unhappily. "-any more food and I think I'm gonna hurl."

Barton shrugged. "Well, it's better than nothing. And like Tasha always tells me: even if you don't feel like eating before a big day, it's better to just do it anyway."

"Romanoff and I are gonna have words about that," I grumbled. Dr. Banner and Barton both chuckled at that, and I felt just the teeniest bit better-

Someone knocked on the door, and without waiting for an answer, pushed it open.

Rogers, Stark, and Romanoff were standing there with serious looks on their faces. Behind them was a group of guards, all standing at attention with their golden spears glinting in the light.

The laughter in the room died. Rogers gave Dr. Banner and Barton a look. "It's time," he said in a grim voice.

The moment of what-might-have-been-mild-happiness in my chest crashed and shattered. I gulped, my throat suddenly very dry.

Somehow, I pushed myself to my feet even though my knees were as solid as jelly, and walked over to the door. Rogers wouldn't look me in the eye. Romanoff was as still as stone. And Stark was staring at me with this truly awful look on his face, like he was trying not to look... like he knew what was about to happen.

I walked past them, and the guards parted for me like water. The five adults fell in step behind me, and the guards surrounded all of us, making it impossible for us to get out of formation. Just in case we tried to run.

The guard in front of me led us down a series of halls that grew less and less familiar, with diminishing light that made the golden walls seem more like stone. We didn't see a single soul, even though servants usually bustled around the halls. No one spoke a word while we walked.

Finally, we reached a pair of wooden doors. They were battered and worn beyond relief, with rusted iron hinges and more than a couple burn marks. The guards moved between me and the adults, effectively cutting me off from them. By the looks of the adults' faces, they didn't like that one bit.

"This way." A pair of guards pushed open the door on the left, and turned back to me expectantly. I tried not to look back as I walked through the door, even though I heard an audible intake of breath, as if one of the adults was about to call something out- but the door slammed shut, ceasing all noise.

We were left in a stone hallway, with a ceiling so low that the guards were forced to hold their spears parallel to the floor, just to make sure they didn't scrape on the cold blocks. There were little slivers of space right where the walls met the ceiling that were covered with iron bars, which I suppose were supposed to be windows.

"Follow us." The guards immediately started walking at a brisk pace down the hall, one in front to lead the way- and one in back, presumably to keep me from running back out the way we came.

It's not like I had a choice either way.

So I sped up my pace to match the guards, and for a couple minutes, the only sound was the click of their armor and the muted footsteps. And just when I though that this hallway was surely leading to another realm, because there would be no other explanation for why it was so long, a door at the end of the passageway came into view.

When we reached it, the guard in front of me pushed it open with enough force to make it fly back and bang against the outer wall. Sunlight- bright and harsh- assaulted me, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to let the spots in my vision fade away. But the other guard gave me a slight push, and I stumbled outside.

We were at the back of the palace, and by my guess, not far from where I started my hike yesterday. There were no paths in sight, but one of the flying skiffs was parked directly in front of us.

The guards and I shuffled onto it, and one of them took the rudder while the other stood at the bow looking very important, or I assume he thought so. I waited in the middle of the skiff, not really wanting to get any closer to either guard.

The skiff lifted up into the air gently, and quickly gained speed as it headed away from the palace. I thought that we might be heading somewhere in the city, but the guard at the rudder steered us over the trees and buildings and out of the city limits. As we flew threw the air, I saw several skiffs taking off from the ground from all over the city. They were all sorts of shapes and sizes: small, large, thin, wide, wooden, hay (wasn't too sure about the structural integrity on that one). 

As the assortment of skiffs eventually reached our level, I could see people standing on them- and even though they stayed a distance away from us, they all were watching our skiff cut through the air. I saw people mutter to their friends and family, saw them lean forward to get a closer look as if that would reveal every secret in the universe.

I had the sudden and unpleasant feeling that at any moment, the skiff would hit a pane of glass and I'd be trapped in a cage for others to gawk at.

But as we flew out of the city, and the fleet of skiffs behind us grew and grew, I saw something odd. Some of the skiffs had rolled out banners that hung over the sides and snapped back and forth in the wind. They were all different shapes and sizes, with strange patterns that seemed to shift in step with the fabric, but the colors remained the same for every skiff: either they were a pale grey, or they were the shade of iron.

I barely had enough time to wonder what they meant before the skiff I was on suddenly lurched upwards. I stumbled but managed to not topple over. When I looked up, I saw that we were passing over a hill, while the all of the other skiffs skirted far off to the right to go around it.

For a moment, I thought that we were going the wrong way. That the guards had messed up, or maybe they hadn't and they were going to get rid of me as soon as we were out of sight of the city-

We broke over the crest of the hill.

Before me lay a humongous stretch of land, flat with no blemishes in sight, and covered in a sheet of green-gold grass that rippled in the light. And on the grass, coming rapidly closer to us, was an arena.

It was wooden, at least six stories tall, and almost like the pictures I'd seen of the Coliseum in Rome. There was a gate set into the circular structure, big enough to drive three buses in side by side, and Asgardians were streaming in. Why they wanted to watch a death match was beyond me. Maybe they just didn't comprehend the weight of having a mortal life. Maybe they thought that we'd beat each other up and call it a day before one of us died.

The other skiffs around us soared down towards that entrance, but the guards steered us around to the back. We weren't flying that high, but I caught a glimpse of the inside of the arena. Wooden slats, making the ground level. I couldn't make out much else from that, but the fact that this entire arena had been constructed in less than a week sort of freaked me out.

The skiff suddenly landed with a jolt, and I stumbled, nearly toppling into one of the guards. 

"Time to go," he said gruffly, and walked off the skiff and onto the ground. I followed, the ground feeling more than odd under my feet after being on the skiff. From here, the arena walls looked even higher, and I had the abrupt relation to a prison in my head.

There was a wooden door built into the outer wall in front of us, just big enough for the guards to walk through without knocking their helmets on the top part of the frame. Once inside, the temperature of the air seemed to drop ten degrees at least, and my eyes weren't adjusted to the sudden darkness inside.

"This way," one of the guards said from somewhere ahead of me. Squinting, I still couldn't make out their form, but followed the sound of their voice regardless. 

Just as I was able to see the faintest outlines of the guard up ahead, he opened another door, and sunlight burned through the cold air. I must've halted for a moment, because then I felt a hand give me a not-so-gentle push from behind, and I nearly tripped over my own feet as I stumbled into the light.

I was inside the arena.

The wooden planks under my feet seemed to have soaked up the heat from the sunlight, and I could smell the vague scent of warm pine in the air. The ground itself was about the size of a baseball field- the kind you'd find at a school, not the real kind. And all around were rows and rows of people, beginning around fifteen feet high and ringed the entire arena. Silver and grey banners hung at odd intervals, draped over the smaller wall than separated the stands from the the ground.

I felt so incredibly small, I thought that surely I'd fall in the cracks between the wooden planks.

"Gale."

I turned to my left, and saw the king and queen standing there. Both were dressed in gold and copper, and neither had so much as a trace of a smile. Behind them, at a distance, stood Thor, eyes fixed on the ground. It was almost like he didn't want to look at me, to acknowledge that I was here.

I gave them a nod, not wanting to bow in case I toppled over. "A- Allfather. Queen Frigga."

"Are you ready, child?" Queen Frigga asked with courteous detachment, hands clasped in front of her yellow dress.

I almost felt a pang of dry humor. "What answer do you expect?" 

Odin cleared his throat, readjusting his grip on his golden spear. "You do not seem well prepared." He gave a meaningful look at my clothes.

I was only dressed in the most comfortable ones I had- ones that I could move in, that wouldn't stretch tight or rip. "I was not expecting these circumstances when I packed," I replied softly.

"However, my son- _Thor-_ convinced me to offer aid in an impartial form," Odin continued, and waved a hand in the air. A second pair of guards appeared behind him, holding folds of gold metal and leather. "Ullr will be ready for the fight. It is only fair that you should be granted the same resources as he."

"That's..." I stared. "For me?"

Odin gave a brief nod. "The holding rooms can serve as dressing chambers for you. I suggest that-"

There was a sudden rise in noise from the Asgardians in the arena. Voices broke out into hurried conversation, and the clink-clank of armor told me that even the guards were looking around.

Odin broke off, and I frowned, looking for the source of the hubbub. There, somewhat near to us, one of the other doors set into the inner wall of the arena was open. And walking towards us, looking as disgruntled and cranky as ever, were Brokkr and Sindri.

"Oi! _Litil knurlaf_!" Brokkr hollered out.

"Brokkr? Sindri?" I stared at them. "What are you two doing here?"

"You are... _familiar_ with these dwarves?" Odin asked incredulously. Glancing back at him, I saw that the king's eyebrows had nearly vanished up into his hairline.

"Thor, nice to see you've been taking good care of our work," Sindri nodded at Mjolnir, which was resting at Thor's waist. 

"Wait, you made that?" I pointed at the hammer. 

Brokkr and Sindri halted as soon as they neared us, and the king and queen turned slightly so we all were looking at each other. The dwarves were still dressed in their dirtied clothes, and I could see Brokkr's charcoal pencil lodged firmly in his beard.

Sindri chuckled. " _Litil knurlaf_ , we've made most of their special doohickies and thingamabobs."

"Honored stoneworkers," Queen Frigga greeted them, sounding a little in awe. "It has been centuries since-"

"We've seen each other, I know," Brokkr finished. He grinned and winked at the queen. "I see your beauty has not diminished in the slightest."

"What brings you hear?" Thor finally spoke, appearing marginally confused. "The great masons of the nine realms do not lightly grace Asgard with their precense."

"We ain't gracing you, blondie," Sindri snorted. "Though, if you really feel like thanking us-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up," I interrupted the dwarf. "First of all- how come everyone's so shocked to see you?"

The guards in our immediate vicinity looked at me like I was nuts. Odin shifted his weight. "Child, Brokkr and Sindri are the oldest dwarves that Asgard knows of. They forged the Bifrost, the hammer Mjolnir, the ring of Draupnir, the boar Gullenbirsti, the-"

"We're sort of very well-known," Brokkr shrugged.

I raised my eyebrows at them. "You? Well-known?"

"Close your mouth, _child_ ," Sindri sniffed. "You'll catch flies."

Brokkr squinted upwards at the crowd of Asgardians all trying to get a closer look at him and Sindri. "Let's wrap this up, Sindri. I need to get back in time for my rendevous with that barmaid from Vanaheim."

"The one you skipped work to see instead of cleaning out the ventilation shaft?" I asked.

Brokkr grinned at me. "That's the one."

"You've been to their _forge_?" Queen Frigga turned to me, a glimmer of almost-concealed interest in her eyes. "What kind of magic-"

Odin cleared his throat once more. Queen Frigga settled back, looking slightly disappointed. "I apologize for such a forthright question," she said quietly.

"No need, Frigga," Sindri brushed it off. "It may have been a few hundred years since we've chatted, but I haven't forgotten our collaboration on the techniques of Vanir spellwork-"

" _Bor_ ing," Brokkr grumbled loudly. "Come on, Sindri. Show them the thing and let's scram before we get mobbed by the commonfolk." He warily glanced at the Asgardians around us, spotted a pretty young woman, and gave her a charming smile before Sindri whacked him upside the head.

"Anyway," Sindri started, and then snapped his fingers. The telltale rattle of the ground lasted only a few moments before a hole opened in the wooden planks, and a suspiciously familiar leather bag flew out. Sindri grabbed it before it hit the ground, and held it out towards me. "Go on," he gave it a wiggle. "It won't turn you into a pig."

Brokkr turned to Sindri with an accusing look. "You said you hadn't figured out that one yet!"

"Eh, well, I didn't think you need to know-"

"- _that you could turn me into a grub-eating swine_ -"

"-overeacting, per usual-"

Brokkr took a deep breath, bit off his retort, and turned back to face us. "In any case," he said, trying to remain calm. "We made something. Something that took us more work than we're used to-"

"Than _you're_ used to," Sindri muttered. "I'm still in perfect shape. Weaving paradoxes upon paradoxes are easy once you've actually put in the bare minum effort, Brokkr."

I took the bag from Sindri, expecting it to be heavy, but found it lighter than I thought. "What kind of a something?"

Brokkr smirked. "It's not too hard to figure out. We tried to get it as close as possible, but since we lacked-"

"Foresight?"

"A brain, in your case. But we made do with what we had." Brokkr jerked his head over to the golden armor that the guards were still holding. "I think you aren't going to need _that_ garbage." He reached forward and awkwardly clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Don't die, _shathûr_."

Sindri cracked his knuckles. "Well, it was positively awful seeing all of you again. I'll try to avoid it in the future. See you in no less than ten thousand years!" He mockingly saluted Odin, grabbed Brokkr by the elbow, and pulled him into the hole in the ground. It snapped shut in the blink of an eye, and then I was left standing there with a bag in my hands and more questions than I started the day with.

"I suppose that doesn't happen often?" I broke the silence. 

Queen Frigga turned to me, a grin on her face. "I must insist that we compare knowledge about the dwarves at your soonest convenience."

"I might not be able to commit to a time, Queen Frigga." I took a breath as I gestured to the arena around us. "My schedule's... booked." The adults shifted uncomfortably at that, so I decided to stop mentioning... what was about to happen. "On another note, what do these banners mean?"

I was referring to the fabrics flying from the stands, to the pennants hanging from peoples' hands. They were just like the kind that the other skiffs had unfurled earlier. The banners were sprinkled throughout the stands- not every person had one, but those who did seemed to cluster within their respective colors.

Odin gave me an odd look before saying in the most quiet voice I'd heard him speak in yet, "You didn't know? They fly for the contenders. Iron for the hunter, and... and silver for the child."

The dark outnumbered the light by far.

A bell rang out before anyone could respond, and silence fell over the entire arena. A shiver ran violently down my spine. The people in the rings of benches above shuffled in their seats, no longer chattering in aimless conversation.

Odin let out a nearly imperceptible sigh. "To your holding room, Gale. You have ten minutes. After that..."

Without finishing his sentence, Odin turned around and walked away, Queen Frigga quickening her pace to be beside him. The guards that led me here moved closer to me, and began steering me towards a separate door than the one we entered the arena through- this one covered in deep slashed and burns. But as we passed Thor, the prince's hand shot out and stopped me from going any further.

"Gale," Thor said quietly, still not looking me in the eye. "I... I am truly sorry for bringing you here."

I was silent for a moment. "We all die someday," I eventually spoke. "Only a fool pretends he can alter those circustances."

I brushed past him and through the door that the guards had indicated.

Inside, I was glad to find that a few bronze lanterns and a tiny opening in the ceiling cast plenty of light around the room. It was about the size of the bedchamber in my room in the palace, but without the furnishings- clearly meant to be used for waiting, as a mere passing point from one place to the next.

The guards shut the door behind me, and suddenly the noise and the bright sunlight and all of the world was cut off. I was standing in an empty room, and that was all I could see and hear and sense.

I kneeled on the ground (seeing as there was no table), opened the bag that Sindri had given me, and reached into it with one hand. I didn't find clumps of metal like the last time; rather, I felt something smooth and flexible under my fingers, and then a hard edge and something hard and cool.

Deciding not to waste any more time, I up-ended the bag, and pulled out the contents.

It was [armor](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1zN-eb5230Jxpw8KhVPkqXDsqtQ5hcGGU/view).

Boots of black leather with metal on the toes and heels. Dark pants that were smoother than cotton and had a little give when pulled. A grey sort-of belt with sides that came down over the hips. A lighter grey top and a darker fabric on top of it that went over one shoulder and kept it from sliding down the torso. And two gloves, barely past wrist-length. Everything was in shades of grey and silver, with flashes of gold in spots.

Yesterday in the forge, the metals that Brokkr was working with, and the fabric that Sindri was weaving...

Sly old dwarves.

I lifted the top piece, and something fell out of it with a thud. Frowning, I reached over and picked it up. It was a dark sheath, with a handle sticking out of it. Carefully, I grabbed the handle and pulled out a knife. It was simple and thin, much more slender than the ones I'd seen Loki wield. And set into the hilt was a purple stone, no bigger than my little finger...

_"Purple is for vagrants_ _."_

I allowed myself a tiny grin. Out of all the things I'd been expecting, it was safe to say that this was not one of them.

I took off my clothes and quickly got the armor on, only having a few slip-ups in the process. Odin said I had ten minutes, but I didn't want to risk anyone walking in on me while I was changing. I _definitely_ didn't need that today.

Everything fit like a glove. Especialy the gloves.

If I didn't believe in magic, then this would've changed my mind in a heartbeat. Brokkr and Sindri might as well have plucked it from my mind. The fabric wasn't tight but it was fitting. It didn't object when I moved. And my arms were bare, letting me feel the air around me.

It wasn't just my arms, it was my back too. The ink on my spine and shoulder blades was bared to the world, save for the right wing which was covered by the fabric, but had the same design woven over it in gold thread. No hiding in this armor. No hiding from the world. No hiding myself.

I undid my pony tail and shook my hair out, smoothing it with my fingers before easily braiding it back from my face. Then, as soon as I finished, I realized that I quite literally had nothing to do. The room was silent. Now all there was left was the waiting.

I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet, humming to myself. My anxiety was shooting upward with every passing moment. I could feel a knot forming in my stomach, and the meager food I'd eaten this morning was threatening to come back up.

Then the door opened up, and I jumped.

"Whoa, easy there, pipsqueak," Barton hurriedly spoke as he shut the door behind him. "Just me."

I let out a breath, and forced myself to loosen up. "Barton, thank God. I thought that it was already time."

Barton shrugged. "Couldn't let my favorite idiot gremlin march headfirst into a suicide match without trying to smack some sense into you."

"Watch it, Eaglefart," I warned him. "I got me some new threads."

"I noticed." Barton nodded appreciatively. "You look like a carbon copy Asgardian. Interesting knife, by the way. Looks like a misericord." He idly scratched the back of his neck. "Got here about two minutes ago, the guards were talking about you and some dwarves. And I convinced Thor to convince his mother to convince the guards to let me talk to you before this whole thing goes down."

"How thoughtful of you."

"I've got my moments." Barton put his hands in his pockets, still dressed in the same jeans and shirt I'd seen him in earlier. "How're you holding up, kid?"

I tried to keep the slight grin on my face. "Been better."

"You're really gonna go through with this, aren't you?" Barton asked after a pause. "You're going to go out and fight him."

I shrugged. "Don't seem like I can opt out now."

"But you can." Barton took a step closer. "It's in the rules, right? Before one of you bleeds, you can forfeit, and no one has to die."

Funny enough, that was the thing that brought a tiny smile to my face, albeit a resigned one. "It's nice that you still think it's a possibility."

Barton scowled. "Stop messing around, Gale. This isn't a game."

"I know." I cut him off. "But Ullr won't stop. Or did you forget that he poisoned you just to throw me off my game?"

"I think I remember that, thank you very much!" 

"My point is that while I can _logically_ forfeit, I _feasibly_ cannot."

"Now that's a load of bull-"

"Why are you here, Barton?" I sighed.

He frowned. "I just told you. Because-"

I waved a hand to stop him. "You think you understand what's happening. You think you can see this from everyone's point of view."

Barton looked like he wanted to say something, but I continued before he could jump in. "You see well from a distance, and I suppose that's got its benefits. But in this situation, you can't see where I'm coming from because you can't even _see_ _me_. You're human. And I'm..." I looked off to the walls, as if they had an answer written on them. "I'm not supposed to exist."

Barton let out a heavy sigh. "Gale," he started. "He's a _god_. And you're, well, for the most bit- _human_."

"Human with part of _him_ inside. Part of a _god_. I'd say I've got a decent shot."

He ran a hand back through his hair in irritation, shifting his weight. "Okay, okay," Barton said. "Both of you are gonna walk into that arena, and only one is walking out. Let's say that you win. That you get rid of Ullr for good. What happens?"

"Then you've got one less superpowered threat running around."

"And if you lose?"

"Then you've got one less superpowered threat running around."

Barton's face immediately darkened. "Gale-"

"Let's face it, that's all I am to Earth," I laughed bitterly. "I'm a misplaced bomb, ready to go off at any second. It doesn't matter if I _would_ hurt someone, it only matters if I _could_."

"That's not-"

"Then why did SHIELD lock me up? Why'd they stick me in a cage like any rabid animal before they put me down? Why, whenever I show how I really am, do people still look at me like I crawled out of some festering pit?" I just wanted Barton to get it, to actually _understand_ for once. "I'm _nothing_ to this world. But I'm something to myself. And-"

I pointed to the door that led out into the arena. "And I am going to walk out there, and hold my head up high because I _cannot_ forfeit. Ullr didn't just challenge me, he challenged my legitimacy. My right to return _home_. If I run, I might as well die in that arena. I may be a threat to this God-forsaken world, but I never belonged to it, and I will not hand over the one part of me that hasn't been tainted by this gods-awful thing we call _life_."

Barton was silent. For what seemed like forever, we just watched each other, waiting for someone to make a move.

"Kid..."

The door swung open, startling us both. A guard stood there, hand on his spear. "Time for you to leave, Midgardian."

"Wait just a second-"

" _Now_." The guard grabbed Barton by the arm and pulled him towards the door. I saw Barton tense up for a second, and I swore the guard was about to lose his hand, but he was out the door before anything could happen.

The door was slammed shut a moment later, and without warning, the lanterns went out. A grating sound came from the ceiling, and I watched as the tiny hole that let in sunlight slide closed. At the same moment, the door slid into the wall, blocking all exits. Before I could even take in a breath, the entire room was plunged into darkness so thick I thought it would coat my skin like pitch.

One heatbeat. Two. Three. 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

And then the floor rumbled, a deep thrum coming from all sides, shaking my bones. A line of searing white light flashed in front of me, hurting my eyes. I squinted and held up a hand, waiting for my eyes to adjust. 

The wall was splitting in two, right down the middle, like a sliding door but the entire wall instead. The room shook as it grated apart, revealing the arena. I stepped forward, not fully outside yet, but close enough to the ever-growing gap that I could see what was happening.

The wooden planks that covered the ground were rattling and nails wiggled out of their places. The boards began to slid backwards, towards the walls of the arena as if they were on invisible strings. The ground was revealed to be sand and dirt, packed solid and bleached the color of bone under the sun.

Across the arena, I could see that the walls were splitting in more places- every twenty feet or so, the wood and stone were separating in clean lines. But they weren't just moving apart- they were shifting backwards, making the arena expand, and the wooden slats that covered it a moment ago were somehow assembling themselves upright, sealing up the gaps.

All of a sudden, the walls stopped moving. The grating and the rumbling ceased. Everything was quiet.

I stepped out into the light.

The air was as dry as my mouth. The sun was harsher than I remembered it just a scarce ten minutes ago.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Heartbeat in my ears. Were people shouting? Cheering? Crying? I didn't know.

The air above the ground rippled, like it would in summer heat. Somewhere in my mind I knew that just outside these walls was a grassy plain and mountains and wildflowers, and the sound of water running in a nearby river. But this, this space seemed to be set apart from that other world, that other land. This was a realm all of its own making.

The tips of my fingers twitched, hitting the hilt of the knife on my hip. The contact made me feel like someone had dropped an anchor right there, and if I held onto that knife then I wouldn't be swept away in this awful moment of hot-dry-air-pale-ground-stone-wall-bright-sun- _can'thearanyoneelseistheresomeoneelsesomeonehelp_ -

A figure appeared on the opposite side of the arena.

My vision tunneled- well, what was left of it anyway. Everything halted. The figure stood there, a dark mass against the sandy ground and pale stone wall.

Then he lifted his hand, a parody of a wave, and the world came crashing in.

Around me.

Around him.

Around _Ullr_.

People were murmuring, talking, shouting, raising their hands or sitting still as stone. Ripples of blue and yellow and red and green as their clothing shifted. And dappling the crowd was lead and ash, iron and silver, graphite and slate. All around me, there was light and sound and movement whirling in circles. I was underwater, everything was moving except for me and I could drown in it all.

Ullr was dressed in dark, dark armor. Most of it was leather or some other cloth, speckled with metal plates protecting parts of his body. A sword was slung on his belt, and the tips of feathered arrows peeked from above his uncovered head. He was smirking. He knew he was going to win.

A thud shook through the air, and all other noise ceased.

I jumped slightly, and I swore _he_ let out a chuckle.

Twisting my head to the left, I saw a section of the stands where a box had been constructed. Inside it stood the king and queen, with Thor behind them and- Loki, being closely watched by no less than eight guards. Directly in front of the box, still a good ways up from the edge of the inner wall, were five people dressed in Midgardian clothes.

Odin readjusted the grip on his spear. A raven on his shoulder ruffled its feathers.

"Asgardians!" Odin boomed, golden armor gleaming. Every eye in the arena was trained on him. "Today is no day for celebration. Today, there will be a resolution to a centuries-old trangression, one that all were unware of. Today, one of the two standing before you will die."

A brief murmur from the blurred faces above, and then the world slowed again.

"But today, there need not be suffering." Odin looked down at the arena floor, glancing between me and Ullr. "You are permitted, as the rules of the _gurth coste_ give, to concede before the first drop of blood is spilt, or continue with the fight if you so choose. Concede, and you may walk back through your door without consequence. Continue, and only one of you will. Do either of you lay down your weapons?"

The crowd waited with bated breath as the king waited for the confirmation from me or Ullr. Ullr didn't so much as twitch.

_I can't give in. Not now, not when I've gotten so far. I can't just walk away, I swore an oath to protect my people, to keep my legitimacy untainted and unchallenged-_

"Very well."

Another thud of Odin's spear on wood, and every door in the arena's wall sunk into the ground in the blink of an eye. Now there was no exit, no way out, just stone walls curving in a circle with nowhere to hide. Beneath the king and queen, a man in a purple shirt seemed to jump forward as if to stop the proceedings, but was held back by a guard.

Across the arena, Ullr grinned.

"There is nothing left to discuss." Odin looked... distant... like he'd done this before, given a speech and told a giant and an ant to fight, knowing all he could do was remain detached. 

"Therefore, I say to all gathered here..." 

_maybe I should call it off maybe I should walk_

"... know that death cannot be avoided..."

_no I can't walk away that wouldn't be right_

"... death cannot be bargained with..."

_but before first blood I can stop it_

"... it cannot be persuaded..."

_keep my legitimacy clean_

"... we cannot cheat it..."

_before the first drop_

"... nor buy its allegiance..."

_but_ _papa taught me honor mama taught me courage_

"... and we all must face it someday..."

_Alexei taught me kindness Konstantin taught me relentlessness_

"... but we may do so with dignity."

_first blood- courage- stop it all- relentless-_

"Begin."

_Snap!_

A burning streak across my face, and I stumbled back, hands flying upward in reflex.

Ullr hadn't moved- but he lowered his bow that came from nowhere, it seemed, and I saw his white teeth flash in a grin.

My fingers came back from my cheek painted scarlet. Glancing behind me, I saw a black arrow embedded in the wall, the tip bloody- and as I watched, a single red bead slid down, fell through the air, and dropped to the ground.

A wretched, sinking pit writhed in my gut as I realized what he'd done. With one action, one heartbeat, he'd sealed the moment in stone: no one could interfere, and no one could concede.

"What are you waiting for, _Gale_!" Ullr shouted, beginning to stride towards me, hands lifted from his sides in confidence. "What are you going to _do_?"

My feet wouldn't move. Something warm was dripping down my cheek.

Ullr grinned, coming steadily closer. He drew another arrow and notched it with ease. "Too easy," he chuckled. "Just like I thought."

The arrow flew towards me, and suddenly my body was lurching to the side. I hit the ground half-senseless, rolled, and scrambled to my feet. The arrow crashed next to its predecessor, unbloodied.

A flicker of a frown graced Ullr's face. "Don't move, _mutt,_ " he growled.

But the knot in my stomach was fading. The world wasn't frozen now. My eyes were sharp, my heartbeat no longer deafening, the rippling banners in the crowd dissolving into meaningless color. Of its own volition, the knife was in my hand, smooth metal looking almost fluid in the light, the purple gem winking up at me. Things were falling into place- the ground, the crowds, the walls, the knife, Ullr- all for one simple reason:

A breeze had touched my skin.

It was still there now, just enough to make the top layer of sand skitter over the ground. I was instantly grateful for the design of my armor- I could feel the breeze as it wound through the air, for the most part blocked by the high outer walls of the arena, but persisting nonetheless.

I shifted my grip on the slim knife, just how Loki had shown me. In the stands, someone in a purple shirt was standing, shaking his arm down at Ullr.

I didn't need to hear Barton to know that he was saying some censor-worthy things about Ullr's arrows and where he could stick them.

_Breath in_

I sucked in a lungful of air.

_Breath out_

I sent in out in one steady rush.

_Without control, Gale, you cannot hope to win. To survive, yes, you could. But without control, your life would be at the cost of others'._

_So what are you going to do?_

A flicker of silver on my skin.

_Control_.

I wiggled the fingers of my free hand, looping the breeze around them, getting a hold on it. It wasn't quick enough to be of any use, but the reassurance was all I needed.

"Time for some cheap parlor tricks, I see," Ullr sneered. He slung his bow over his shoulder, and laughed. The sound carried across the space with the sharpness of a whistle. "Do you forget so easily, mutt, that I'm the one who _created_ you?"

Ullr's black eyes narrowed as he lifted a hand, and snapped his fingers. 

The heat hit me like a hammer. The sun now shone too bright, the colors around me were too vibrant, my ears were ringing-

"Poor little child," Ullr mocked, slowly moving closer and closer to me. I was reminded heavily of a shark with the scent of blood and no hesitation to be found. "Did you think you stood a living chance against me?"

I took in another breath, still reeling from whatever witchcraft he'd worked. "No," I grunted. As I spoke, I curled my fingers, weaving a little magic of my own. "I think I stand a _fighting_ one."

I thrust out my hand, and sent the now-quickened breeze shooting out at Ullr. It sliced through the air, still invisible to the naked eye, but I saw a line of red appear on Ullr's cheek. He took a step back, and the illusion over me shattered as the my senses returned to normal. The cut on Ullr's face matched the one on mine- and with our dark hair and eyes, and the beaded red on our cheeks, we could be a mirror's reflection of each other.

Ullr's gaze turned mutinous as he glared at me. I felt a twinge in my stomach as I realized that now I'd gone and poked the shark with a stick. "You'll pay for that, _mutt_."

He drew his sword and charged.

I barely had enough time to react before he was right in front of me. He swung down at my head, and I threw myself to the side to avoid it. But as soon as I was upright again, I saw a glint of metal flying at me from an angle and thought _God, this thing is going to break clean in two_ , and held up my knife to block it.

A ringing sound cleaved through the air- I felt like I was standing next to a bell that'd just been struck. Blinking, my gaze twitched to where Ullr's sword rested against the knife.

The knife was completely intact. In fact, the ringing sound seemed to be coming from it, though it was steadily fading. Ullr looked as shocked as I felt. He was staring at the slim knife, obviously not believing what he was seeing.

"How..." he uttered, and for the first time, he sounded almost confused.

Then his eyes caught on the purple stone, the _mithrim skul_ , and his gaze hardened. "Of course the blasted dwarves added that," Ullr growled. He suddenly looked back at me with a smirk. "Purple for vagrants, no?"

Ullr took one hand off the hilt of his sword and swung it at me. The fist landed solidly in my stomach, and I felt bile rise in my throat. I doubled over, taking a few steps back until I was nearly touching the wall. Ullr lazily swung the swung his sword in his hand, and I saw a gleam of black in its hilt, one that I hadn't noticed before, a gem the color of pitch with traces of lines inside-

"Black is for battle." He lunged forward.

I shot upwards and over his head.

I didn't even realize what I'd done until I landed back on the ground, far behind Ullr, facing his back. Ullr's sword glanced off the wall, a few sparks popping into light.

There was a hum in my bones and a coldness winding up my spine. I felt movement on my arms, more tangible than the air, and when I held them out in front of me, I watched silver lines rise and curl into motion. Flight... I didn't fly. But I still had some say in gravity's control on me.

Looking back at Ullr, I saw him glaring fit enough to send me six feet under. "Gale," he started with a dry grin, readying his sword. "I brought your people to life. When this is over, I will take it from them just as easy."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" I spoke up, my voice braver than I felt. I couldn't hear the crowd- whether my senses were tunneled to what was directly in front of me or they were making no sound, I couldn't tell.

Ullr's lips drew back in a snarl. "Die slowly."

I didn't wait for him to move. I reached up, wound every single scrap of wind I could find, and let them loose in his direction. The beginnings of silver ribbons began to appear, flickering in and out of sight as they crashed into Ullr's body.

He was pushed back into the wall, hitting it with more force than either of us expected. But the winds lost momentum a scarce second after that, and Ullr was back on his feet.

I moved back further, until I was in the middle of the arena. Here, I was closer to the wind that blew outside the arena, the wind that was being blocked by these high walls- and I realized that whoever designed this place was biased, and not in my favor.

Ullr didn't come running at me this time; he obviously learned his lesson. Instead, he slung his sword back on his hip and pulled out his bow in one easy motion. "You think this is hard for me?" He called out loudly, and superhumanly-quick fired at me.

I made a slicing motion with my hand, and the arrow was blown off course. Ullr took a single step forward. "Gale, I'm not even _trying_ ," he chuckled.

Another arrow careened to the side.

"You're a _child_ , Gale."

The next was sent high into the air.

"And I am a _god_."

The fourth arrow was lodged into the ground. I was running out of time to use the same trick again and again.

Ignoring, or rather trying to ignore the ache in my gut and the sting on my cheek, I grabbed a breeze and made it circle around me in a loose spiral, gathering force as it went. I saw Ullr's eyes narrow, his grip tighten- and I threw the wind at him with as much brute force as I could muster.

This time, Ullr didn't just stumble. He was knocked off his feet and shoved backwards, hitting the ground hard on his front.

I didn't wait for him to get up. I threw another wind at him, but instead of making it more substantial, or just channeling it in his direction, I sharpened it. 

Ullr let out a short cry as the wind cut open the back of his leg. One of his hands shot out, and I caught a glimpse of iron grey marks on his bare skin before something caught around my ankles and yanked- _hard_.

My body slammed into the ground, knocking the breath out of my lungs. I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't- couldn't-

A roar went up from the crowd, the first that reached my ears. In the corner of my eye, I saw a wave of dark banners rise and fall. I just laid there, staring up at the sky.

_Scrape thud._

_Scrape thud._

I managed to twist my head a bit to the left, even though it sent an ache down my neck. Ullr was limping towards me, one foot dragging slightly on the ground, the other hitting the ground solidly.

_Scrape thud._

_Scrape thud._

"You just don't know when to stop, do you? Serves me right, I suppose. A dual nature must make any person so stubborn, so determined to cling to life."

_Scrape thud._

"In the end, though, you know I'm going to kill you. You'll die without honor, Gale."

_Papa taught me honor_

_Mama taught me courage_

"False courage will always fail its owner, child. Did you think I would be kind?"

_Alexei taught me kindness_

_Konstantin_ _taught me-_

"You lack ruthlessness. And that is why, every time, I will _win_ -"

My body snapped into action. I twisted to the side just in time to see Ullr's sword drive point-down into the ground, right where my head was a moment ago. 

I had to move, Ullr was right there, he wasn't going to hesitate. My knife- God, it was several feet away, knocked out of my hand by Ullr's witch-work. 

Above me, Ullr's brow creased in annoyance. He pulled back his sword, ready to swing again. "I thought I told you not to move, _mutt_."

I frantically grabbed onto the nearest breeze, and sent my knife shooting towards Ullr. It was aimed straight for his heart, it would be over in less than a heartbeat-

Ullr held a hand out, and the dagger froze in midair, a centimeter away from his palm. 

He looked back to me, slowly, all traces of annoyance gone. A steady, wicked smile grew on his face. "Child," Ullr said in a low voice. "I'm done playing."

My throat turned dry.

I couldn't even blink before Ullr was upon me. He seized the front of my armor and hurled me across the arena. I hit the ground even harder than before, my body rattling with pain from the impact. I tried to push myself onto my hands and knees, struggling to breath. Something red was dripping onto the ground beneath me.

"I told you, Gale, I am a _god_."

He grabbed my arm and threw me again. I slammed into the wall, my head crashing back into the stone. A searing bolt of pain lanced through my body and for a moment my vision went dark. I drew in an agonizing breath- there wasn't a part of me that didn't hurt, didn't bleed- 

But before I crumpled to the ground, I felt something around my waist, and once more, was sent hurtling through the air.

I landed back in the center of the arena, rolling a few times before coming to a halt on my side.

I couldn't even think. The whole world was blurry, everything just _hurt_ \- and a part of me wanted it to stop, for it all to fade away, to just close my eyes and sink into the ground. Every breath rattled in my chest, every heartbeat pounded in my head, every second passed in pain.

A pair of boots approached me, stopping only a foot away.

"Pathetic."

Something hard sunk into my stomach, and I let out a feeble groan, trying to shift away from him.

"You know, mutt-"

I felt something wrap around my neck, and then suddenly I was lifted upwards, off the ground. My eyes shot wide open as my feet dangled in the air.

Ullr was standing ever so casually, with one hand resting at his side, and the other encircling my neck. The blood on his cheek was already dry. I was a good two feet off of the ground, and even though I kicked my legs out, I couldn't touch him.

"I have to admit," Ullr began with a level tone, not even remotely winded. "I underestimated you at first. That little stunt with the wind- making it almost... solid... it was more than I expected, to say the least."

My fingers scrabbled at Ullr's wrist in vain. Desperately trying to suck in a breath, I felt my throat burn.

Ullr was still talking, as if we were conversing on some trivial matter. "I don't know how taught you that trick, but I'll be sure to follow up on it. Speaking of your tricks, I think I'll be keeping this-" he drummed his fingers on the hilt of my knife. "It'll make a fine addition to my collection of trophies. I'll make sure to give it _plenty_ of use when I visit your people... the _Teneo_ , wasn't it?"

I twitched the fingers on my left hand, and with the last of control, sent a southern breeze at Ullr's face. He barely flinched, and waved his free hand as if swatting a fly. The wind, which had been tainted silver, suddenly changed to a vicious shade of iron, writhing in the air like a snake held by the tail.

My heart was beating wildly in my ears. _Thumpthumpthumpthump_.

"Now," Ullr said, sounding annoyed. "A little flash of hot air won't hurt me." He slowly tightened his grip, and a wave of pain ripped through my body, resonating in my chest. "See, Gale, you've tried to beat me by playing with what you _think_ are my weaknesses. And, well, I don't _have_ any."

Dimly, through the pounding pulse in my ears, I heard someone shouting above the crowd, bellowing at Ullr, yelling for the guards to stop holding them back from jumping into the arena. Then my eyes locked with Ullr's, and I could make out my reflection in his- dirty, bloody, beaten- a dead girl walking.

_Thumpthumpthumpthump_ went my heart.

"Child, you need to understand something. I have _strengths_. And they're..." Ullr grinned wickedly. "Let me show you."

The dark wind shot at me, and I couldn't stop it from rushing into my mouth.

I would've screamed if I could've.

But I felt it choke me, more so than Ullr's hand, as it shrieked down my throat and into my lungs. I felt tears run down my face as it curled in the center of my chest, closing in tighter and tighter. It send waves of icy heat burning through my veins with every passing second.

Ullr was laughing.

"You have the wind that _I_ _gave you_! You foolish child, I am everything you are and more!" He threw his head back in mirth. "Give up! You've lost, mutt."

My already failing vision was turning black. The wind in my chest was becoming less sharp and more dull, a dull ache that spread through my body, slowing everything down, getting it ready to never start up again.

_Thump thump thump_ went my heart.

"I am a god, Gale. I am strong."

_Thump_

_Thump_

"And you have no spine, no backbone, no steel in you."

_Thump_

"You have no ruthlessness."

_thump_

"Just break already, and save us the time."

And then I felt it.

Something in me, something deep in me broke.

The last of my air escaped my lips. It made a little sound as it went. Ullr smirked when he saw the look on my face, the frozen horror, the helplessness of it all.

He closed his fist. There was a crunch.

... _thump_

The dark wind in my chest laughed at me. The thing that I controlled, the force that I called to and heard it answer, the part of me that I had always called irrevocably and unequivocally _mine_... it was the one to hurt me like nothing had ever hurt before.

... _thump..._

My eyes closed. All I could sense was that awful thing inside of me, and broken pieces of something lying still.

Dark. Everything was dark. No light, no sky, no clouds.

_..._

Just... dark.

But it wasn't my heart that had shattered. It wasn't my lungs. It wasn't my bones, and it wasn't my soul.

Control.

It was my control.

Silver exploded in my head.

My eyes snapped open, and everything rushed in at me in brilliant detail: the granules of sand, the smell of blood, the glint of light on metal, the shift of fabric on my skin- and the shock on Ullr's face.

I narrowed my eyes at him- pure molten silver, with no trace of white or black- and summoned every wind inside and out of the arena, and pushed it at Ullr.

He didn't even know what hit him. Ullr went crashing backwards into the ground, visible silver winds pressing against him, keeping him down.

But the moment his hand left my throat, I didn't fall. Instead, I felt wind rippling over my skin, all around me. And I stayed in the air, not just hovering- I knew the difference- this was more than that.

"Ruthlessness."

I barely recognized my own voice. It was clear and cold, and didn't sound like it came from a girl who'd been nearly choked to death a minute before.

But I could feel it. Every wind, every scrap of movement in the air inside the entire arena. I was connected to it all, to every inch. And it felt... it felt _good_.

A chuckle bubbled up in me. "You claim I lack it."

I raised a hand, and Ullr was brought up off the ground. The winds dragged him into the air and I drifted higher as well, so we were eye to eye but still apart.

"You-" Ullr grunted, face turning red as he tried to free himself from my grip.

"Quiet." I snapped my fingers. Ullr froze as the shimmering wind threads slid into existence, binding him in place. Rendering him _helpless._

The wind was thrumming in my veins, wiping away all sensation except for the cool passage of air. I lowered my head slightly, looking down at my chest, and held a hand in front of it. Reaching inside, I latched onto Ullr's foul wind and drew it out from my body. It diffused through skin and armor until it hovered in front of me, still iron grey and writhing.

"You were right, Ullr," I said, my own voice faint to my ears. I felt my hair slowly pull loose of its braid, straying out into a dark cloud as if underwater. "Weaknesses... they will not be the ones to fell you. You have your strengths. But I have mine. And if weakness will not topple you, then strength will."

Ullr's eyes shot wide just before I gave the winds a single order.

They wrapped around his neck, squeezing tight enough to hurt but not to crush the bones. Ullr croaked, lungs straining.

I drifted closer to him, skin pulsing with silver marks that curled and shifted in dizzying patterns. "You say I am not ruthless," I repeated in an even tone. "Then what would you call this?"

A flick of my fingers, and then Ullr's dark wind shot into his gut. He let out a groan that barely made it past his lips, and I watched as he struggled in place.

The crowd was silent. And yes, I was aware of them. I was aware of _everything_ in this moment, in this time. I knew they were watching, were waiting, were scarcely breathing. I didn't mind that they saw me like this, brimming with so much _power._

"I am ruthless," I murmured. My fingers twitched, and I yanked Ullr's iron grey marks to the surface of his skin. I didn't know if he wanted to scream. I just knew that he couldn't. "Someone taught me how to be such, how to survive in this life."

I pulled a northern wind towards me, winding it around me, trailing my fingers along it. "You are a god, it is true. But you are part of my people's history. And the person who taught me ruthlessness taught me another valuable lesson. Would you like to know what it was?"

I suddenly clenched my hands into fists, tightening the winds around Ullr's body until his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Beads of blood were forming at his lips and nose.

"Let the past die. Kill it, if you have to."

I let the northern wind loose. It lanced towards Ullr, and plunged into his skin. The wind around his throat dissipated, and Ullr let out a bone-chilling howl as streaks of silver raced underneath his skin like mercury.

"I told you I'd be the one to end you." I moved even closer to Ullr, until I could reach out and touch him- and him to me, if he could've moved at all. "Strange, isn't it? Feeling helpless. It's only what you've done to countless others. What you've done to _me_."

Ullr panted raggedly, his throat bruised, his armor slowly being ripped to shreds by the winds holding him in the air. He looked at me with shock- no, _fear_. He was afraid.

Good.

"I'm not going to kill you," I told him, eyes narrowed. "That would be a mercy. And you threatened the people around me. People who never harmed you. Believe me, mercy is the _last thing on my mind_."

The wind turned on him. He screamed as it cut into his flesh, turning the skin on his hands from pale to black, crumbling like ash. Blood dripped down his fingers, staining them red. The entire time he cried out, and the entire time I heard him and did nothing to ease his pain.

Aftter the wind ceased, and Ullr's throat grew so torn he couldn't muster another cry, I flicked the winds away from his hands. There, branded on both sides of each hand, right where his grey markings would pool, was a single rune that was mirrored on my own palms in that moment:

_Hagalaz_.

"You will live another ten thousand years, Ullr," I growled at him. "And every second of every day, you will remember the time you created the very thing that would destroy you. Everytime you pick up a sword or bow, you will see _my_ markings, and so will everyone else. You will never run from this. You will never kill this part of you."

I released every wind holding him up, and Ullr dropped ten feet to the ground, hitting it with a heavy _thud_. He didn't move.

I took in a breath, closed my eyes, and let myself gently drift down and touch the ground. The silver marks never once dimmed. My eyes were still solid mercury, my hair waving behind in a breeze that only it felt. My whole body was still screaming _alive, alive, alive_. This power running in my breath, my blood, my bones... I didn't want it to end.

Then someone jumped over the inner wall, not too far from where I stood. It took me a moment to recognize his face: Barton.

"Gale," he called out, approaching me. A bit of silver briefly flashed in my vision- not wind, but just a streak of grey that only I seemed to see. An after-effect of my legacy, no doubt.

"Barton," I replied, turning to face him. But he stopped a good twenty feet away from me, hands held up in what seemed to be a peaceful gesture. I frowned, and he took a tiny step back.

"Let's, uh, let's calm down," Barton said in an even tone.

What? _another silver flash, this time painting the ground grey for a moment_

"Calm down?" I repeated.

Barton's face was eerily impassive. "Ullr's... he's down for the count. You don't have to be all scary now."

"Scary?" I felt anger coil up in my stomach, replacing the cold determination. _silver in the sand, making it glitter like stars_ " _Scary_? For just being what I am-"

I didn't realize what I'd been doing until Barton twitched. The top layer of sand had been kicked up by the wind, stinging anyone around me- including him. _streak the_ _color of steel in the sky_

Barton didn't move, just kept his hands in full view. His blue eyes were locking on my silver ones, unwavering. "Gale, take a breath."

I clenched and unclenched my fists, causing the air the ripple. An dark grey banner was torn from the stands and whirled around the arena, buffeted by the wind. _streak of silver turning the banner to ash_ "I- I don't need to. I'm fine. Nothing is wrong."

"She's power-giddy." Another voice uttered. I blinked. I hadn't noticed more people had come down to the floor of the arena. Loki had spoken, his green- _grey_ \- tunic vibrant under the sun.

"Sorry, _power-giddy_?" Barton asked.

I shook my head. "I'm- I lost control. But I'm-" _grey flash silver bolt ash streak_

"Okay, okay," Barton said in a gentle voice. "You lost control, so get it back."

_grey sky_

"It's not- not that-"

_silver people_

"As much as I hate to agree with this pesky Midgardian, _mista ince_ , you need to take a step back."

_ashen ground_

I closed my eyes, feeling every single scrap of wind- _grey silver ash_ \- and told myself to... _let go_ -

It was like someone cut the strings that held me in position. All of a sudden my throat was dry, my body ached, the air was too hot, my hair stuck to the back of my neck, my feet were swaying- or was it the ground?

Barton was there in a flash. He held onto my shoulders, keeping my steady. His voice popped back into my ears, harsh and grating to me. "-hear me? Kid, you alright?"

I wearily nodded, regaining my balance. "I think- just... just got wind-drunk on it all..."

Barton backed up, giving me some space that I was incredibly grateful for. Behind him, Loki quickly walked towards us. "That was quite idiotic of you, Gale," the tall Asgardian reprimanded me.

"'M sorry," I muttered. "But I'm alive."

A small, genuine grin broke out on Barton's face. "That you are, pipsqueak, that you are."

_purple shirt looked grey for a second_

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Gale, are you feeling alright?"

I frowned. "Yeah- well, I'm tired, and I might've broken more than one rib, but I'll survive."

Loki didn't look convinced, and Barton took a second look-over on me. "Featherweight, you're bleeding-" Barton noticed.

I looked down, spotting red on the grey- _silver ash-_ armor. "I'm-"

A wave of dizziness hit me. I stumbled a bit, blinking disorientedly.

The two mens' faces hardened. "Kid-" Barton started.

"I'm fine-" I tried to repeat. My stomach was twisting something fierce inside, and I tasted vomit.

_grey grey grey_

"Gale!" Loki raised his voice. I saw him reach towards me, saw Barton do the same, saw more people flooding down from the stands.

_everything was grey silver grey ash grey silver grey_

I couldn't stop my body from falling backwards, the sensation of burning cold racing through my muscles, locking them in place. The world was tainted in shadows, growing darker with every second-

_grey grey grey greygreygreygrey_

_darker darker just like night just like Ullr's eyes_

_"Gale!"_

Author's Note:

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

you thought it'd be fine in the end

but guess what

i got you good

Okay, all evil laughter aside, here's a **huge** shoutout to [Bukaro](https://www.quotev.com/Bukarosan) for _personally_ designing Gale's armor for the _gurth coste_. They did the artwork all by themselves and deserve heaping praise for it (there's an earlier version of the armor that I believe should get some time in the spotlight, so here it is: [(armor sample.png)](https://drive.google.com/file/d/14CgdzYoJ4ZYKkbahqzICFVrdVOitknFY/view) ).

Another thing that's really cool: I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but [Nobody](https://www.quotev.com/jackofalltrades) created an account on Quotev for Ullr, called [Ullr of the bow](https://www.quotev.com/groups/784680753), whose nickname is 'FightmeGale'. Honestly, thank you so much for making me laugh each time I think about it.

And thank you to all of you readers, for sticking through this frankly quite slow area of the story. I'll try to pick it up as the summer draws nearer.

(but seriously, get out while you still can, because Gale's problems are far from over, and far less friendly than a death match)


	32. A little something special brought to you by Electric Arrows Inc.

Clint wasn't religious.

He didn’t go to church every Sunday, he didn’t believe in some capital-g God, and he was pretty sure the whole “Thou shalt not kill” thing conflicted with his occupation. Heck, until Thor had shown up in New Mexico, Clint didn’t even think about supernatural deities or mystical beings. Magic was just science or enhanced people (who weren’t magical, just… weird, with dubious moral compasses).

And even after the whole Loki fiasco, and the aliens, and even _more_ gods, Clint still had a firm grip on reality. Gods were just aliens that seemed more human, and aliens weren’t magic. Everything boiled down to the science mumbo-jumbo that Tony and Bruce were so fond of spewing. Nothing was too paranormal, too magical, too _otherworldly_.

Not even her.

 _Especially_ not her.

Not _even_ when they all but literally ran into each other, when Clint was supposed to get a good- an _accurate_ \- read on a person. But maybe that had to do with the circumstances of the encounter, and not that he wasn't as quick in the head as he thought.

When Clint first met Gale… well, it wasn't exactly a _formal_ introduction.

  
  


“Barton!”

Clint looked up from his seat at the conference table, boots propped up on the glass and a bag of chips in his hands. “Yeah boss?” He asked through a mouthful of Doritos.

Fury looked like business- so the usual, then. He tapped a few things into the tablet he was holding, then slid it over the table to Clint. “Got a job for you.”

Clint groaned. “Again? I just got back from London, like, two days ago. And the whole alien thing is only a month old. _And_ it’s like, ten at night. I’m only here because I like to make fun of the guy who plays Galaga all the time.”

“If I wanted attitude, I’d go to Stark.” Fury nodded his head at the tablet sitting in front of Clint. “This one’s easy. Simple retrieval.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Clint set down the bag of chips and leaned forward to look at the screen. There was a grainy picture of some female in a hoodie, a general location, and a whole lot more blank spaces than there should’ve been. “Wow,” Clint bobbed his head. “Might wanna tone down on the details. Use a highlighter. Get the important bits.”

“Oh, I can still ring up Stark. He’ll be _mighty_ glad to know you can’t handle a one-man job.”

“Sheesh, Fury, who put vinegar in your Sprite?”

“You did. Several months ago, if I’m not mistaken.”

Touché.

Clint sighed. “Fine. I’ll do the stupid job. But it doesn’t cut into my vacation days, got it?”

The corner of Fury’s mouth twitched. “I knew you’d say yes.” He turned around, heading for the bridge. “Besides, I don’t think someone else- someone inexperienced- should deal with any enhanced individual. And this- oh, this one can fly.”

Clint’s eyes went wide. He scrambled out of his chair, hurrying to catch up with Fury’s rapidly receding trench coat. “Enhanced individual- _fly_? Like _fly_ fly? Fury- Fury, wait up!”

Twenty minutes and a trip to the armory later, Clint was squashed in between two agents in the backseat of an SUV, barreling down a highway at a speed most likely above the limit. Why was he in the backseat? Well, Hill won rock-paper-scissors, so she got shotgun.

“So,” Clint started, breaking the silence. “Any of you guys seen the new electric arrows?”

There was a pause where every single person in the car gave him a look. Hill spoke up from the passenger seat. “No, Clint, we use guns like everyone who _isn’t_ in the Dark Ages.”

He grumbled a response about where Hill could shove her guns, but she wasn't listening. Instead, she’d leaned forward, staring out the front window. “That’s the RV,” she began. “Cut it off.”

The SUV swerved and screeched to a halt, blocking the road. Clint was tossed forward, nearly throwing his head against the seat in front of him. Glaring at the driver, he nonetheless checked his quiver, and scooted out of the cramped car behind one of the agents.

The RV was surrounded by several other, standard SHIELD cars. Agents were streaming out and around in a circle, weapons aimed at the doors of the RV. Clint hung back- surely he wasn't needed with _this_ many others. He adjusted his grip on the bow, ready to join in quickly if a fight ensued.

Enhanced individual- he didn’t know much about them- _her_ , in this case. Clint had seen a lot of freaky people before with a lot of freaky abilities, but they weren’t fascinating so much as dangerous. The guy in Sacramento who did fire-breathing at festivals? He burnt down a building with his bare hands a day before SHIELD got to him. The gal in Vancouver who could speak to animals? She could’ve convinced any wild beast to attack somebody, with only a snap of her fingers.

Whatever this one could do, even if they hadn’t done anything bad yet- there was _always_ the possibility of them going all dark side on the world.

“Come out of the van with your hands up!” One agent who had a bullhorn shouted at the RV.

A tense moment followed, and then the driver’s door popped open. A frail old man stumbled out, hands raised and shaking to high heavens.

And then a second later, the passenger door opened, and something dark and slim slipped out of the van. Clint almost thought it was a shadow, on account of the silent way it moved, like it was even less substantial than air.

The person- not the old man, who was frozen still- was standing straight. They angled their head so their hair obscured their face, but even though he couldn’t see their eyes, Clint knew that they were examining the agents: locating them, counting them, observing their weapons. This one was smart.

“Girl! Get down on your knees with your hands above your head!” Hill ordered loudly. Every gun was trained on the shadow-figure.

Then they replied, just as clear as Hill. “You’re making a mistake!”

“Get down on the ground!” Hill repeated, raising her voice.

The person refused to move. “This could end up very bad for you and your men!”

“We will open fire! Last warning!”

Another moment passed in which the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Then the figure bent its knees, as if to crouch down on the ground.

Half of the agents relaxed their grip on their weapons, but Clint’s hand tightened on his bow. This wasn't right, this was too easy, something was about to-

The figure suddenly sprang into the air- and kept on going. Clint just stared at them for a second. When Fury said this one could fly, he really meant _fly_. The person was soaring straight up in the air- faltering a bit, sure- but they were _flying_.

The agents around Clint opened fire on the figure. Gunshots rang out in the night air. But the person was wearing all black, and against the dark sky, they were nearly impossible to hit.

“We need air support _NOW_!” Hill yelled.

 _Nearly_ impossible to hit.

“Right, right, don’t get your paperwork in a twist,” Clint grumbled, drawing an arrow back.

The figure was zooming away rapidly, and soon there’d be no hope of getting them. But Clint simply took a breath, focused on the receding target, and… let go of the bow string.

A second later, a crackle of white-blue electricity flashed in the sky, and then a dark mass was hurtling toward the ground with no signs of stopping.

Clint slipped his bow over his back and hurried out onto the rough ground, heading to where the impact would be. The SUV’s behind him roared to life and quickly overtook him, headlights shining harshly onto the dirt. They slowed to stop ahead of Clint, and by the time that he caught up to them, Hill and the other agents already had their guns pointed at something on the ground. Clint halted before he ran into the ring of agents, and looked at what they were aiming at.

There, obviously unconscious, was a girl no older than twenty. Face up, her dark hair was splayed out, making it look like a pool of blood before Clint blinked and the illusion vanished.

“Nice work, Barton,” Hill spoke up from his right.

Clint turned to face the woman. “You’re kidding me, right? _This_ is the enhanced individual?” He snorted. “This is a _child_.”

“She’s dangerous,” Hill shot back. A pair of medics came out from one of the SUV’s with a stretcher, carefully picking up the girl and strapping her securely to it. As they hoisted her up and into the back of the car, Clint got a better look at the girl.

Scratch his previous estimate at her age. This kid wasn't even old enough to vote yet.

“That’s all, agents,” Hill addressed the team. “Let’s clean up and clear out.”

Clint knew that they’d taken the girl to a special room, one that was apparently capable of restricting her powers. Fury’s best guess was that the kid somehow controlled the air, or the wind or something like that- which would explain the flight and the lack of throwing-things-around-in-the-way-that-only-telekinetics-do. So that meant cutting off most of the air circulation, and having a trained operative in the room at all times in case the girl woke up.

He visited the room every now and then for about a week, because Tasha was there and a neglected Tasha was not a happy Tasha (and was therefore a homicidal Tasha, which everyone on the Helicarrier wanted to avoid).

Then one day, Clint got called into the conference room. At first he thought Fury had figured out it was him that put the bag of mosquitoes in the Safety & Regulations Office. Then Tony, Bruce, and Steve came in, so Clint decided to play dumb on the mosquito-front for the time being.

The four men were talking about trivial things to pass the time, wondering why Fury had brought them all there, when Tasha walked in- pushing a wheelchair.

The girl was sitting there, hands folded across her stomach, seemingly unworried about her current predicament. Her dark eyes flickered around the room, taking in every person and all of the exits. Clint was right about her the first time: she was smarter than she looked.

“ _This_ is the gifted individual?” Tony scoffed, almost word-for-word what Clint had said the first time he saw her.

“Tony Stark, billionaire and former CEO of Stark Industries, also known as Iron Man. You were one of the people who flew around in costumes at the Battle of New York, and the one that let a group of Chitauri slip into Brooklyn,” the girl said calmly as Tasha parked her at the head of the table.

The girl’s voice was clear and even-pitched, like that of any adult. It made her seem like two people in one body. And regardless of the people sitting around the table, she wasn't scared in the least.

Tony spluttered for a moment. “What? No, nothing got past me. There would have been-”

To which she replied with a slow sort of easiness, as if she had all the time in the world. “A warning, chaos, people dying? I took care of it for you, by the way. You’re welcome.”

There was a pause. Clint got the feeling that it happened a lot around the girl.

“You guys didn’t even notice? Wow, I’m better than I thought.” She grinned, a quick flash of teeth, and Clint suddenly knew there was something completely off about this girl.

It was like when she’d crouched on the road, before he shot her out of the sky. She pretended to give up before flying off before they could even blink. Clint had a feeling that at any given moment, at the drop of a dime, that she would leap into the sky and leave them all in the dust.

But as the girl kept talking, and the other Avengers kept talking back, that feeling started to wear off. The whole ‘smarter-than-she-seemed’ vibe got less threatening and more… annoying. Who did she think she was, this little snot-nosed lightweight smug-faced sarcastic punk?

Clint wanted to gouge his eyes out after a couple minutes. And then flee the country.

And just when he thought he’d get some peace after that job, Clint had to deal with the girl being in Avenger Tower. And everything she did was just so _irritating_.

It was like going up against an automatic tennis ball launcher- she had a lightning quick comeback for _anything_ , guaranteed to smack you straight on the nose. She just got on his nerves in every way possible- which was a feat he didn’t appreciate in the slightest. Clint couldn’t wait until his next mission, when he could finally get some peace and quiet. In fact, he hoped that the girl screwed up and got booted out of his life for good.

Then she actually did screw up. And it was just a little bit satisfying for Clint, knowing that a brat who misused their powers got exactly what was coming to them.

But Tasha connected the dots, and told Steve to get the girl to read a bunch of weird words. So now the girl was Russian. Okay, Clint could deal with that; after all, he’d been dealing with Tasha since forever.

Of course, Fury had to ruin everything by making him observation detail for the midget. Now Clint had to stick around her, 24/7. But it wasn’t _too_ bad, Clint had to admit. All the girl wanted was to go up on the roof and talk about ‘ley-lines’ or some mystical mumbo-jumbo.

And they started to settle into their places. He and the girl would spew death threats with conviction, and then they’d wind up drinking coffee in the kitchen at three in the morning, insisting that they were still bitter enemies. There was a sort of rhythm to their animosity.

Somewhere along that line, Clint got to recognizing that the girl wasn't even a legal adult yet, but she acted like a grownup; whereas he himself was old enough to know what a VCR was and consistently acted like a five year-old (according to Tasha). But the point still stood: the girl was just a girl, so maybe she deserved a little slack.

The other were sort of okay with the pipsqueak. Pepper was sympathetic, Rogers was polite, Bruce was reserved (per usual with newcomers) but not cold, Tasha was constantly examining the girl but wasn't hostile- yet, and Tony… he and the girl couldn’t be in the same room without hurling insults. They both wanted the last word, they both wanted the other to accept defeat and humiliation- they were both major pains in Clint’s posterior.

“Why keep arguing with her,” Clint asked Tony one day, “if neither of you win? The rest of us are seriously getting tired of it.”

Tony snorted, and continued working on his next Iron Man suit. “If I don’t win, then I lose. And I hate losing. So does she. Besides, Legolas-” he clapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder “-one more screw up on her part and she’s gonna get used to the inside of a SHIELD cell. That should cheer you up, shouldn’t it?”

It didn’t. The kid was still a kid. But the adults had the right idea, keeping her- and everyone else in the world- safe, by putting her in their care.

Meanwhile, everyone was starting to get used to the girl’s presence, in their own ways, but still- she was fitting into their daily routine. And Clint had the feeling that she was getting used to them too. Maybe she’d finally lay down the verbal assault and agree that the adults were honestly trying to help with her whole situation.

In any case, the girl was still supremely annoying. Easier to deal with now, but _very_ much annoying.

  
  


And then the nightmare happened.

Pepper had suggested the idea, and without a ‘why not’, they’d all settled in the mini-theater. Clint made his usual blanket nest, Tasha had popcorn- the girl looked tired, and she was more quiet than usual, but why did he care- and everything was fine.

She fell asleep towards the end of the movie.

One moment, she was sitting on the other end of the couch, explosions of star-fighters reflecting in her eyes. And then Clint looked over again, and she was curled up with her head on the armrest, eerily still.

The movie ended. She didn’t wake up. Pepper noticed her, a little smile came on her face, and she turned around to Tony to say something-

Clint was about to move away when a lightning-quick expression flashed over the girl’s face. He paused for a second. Maybe he was just seeing things-

She muttered something in a tense voice. Not English, that was for sure. Her eyebrows knitted together, jaw clenched. One of her hands was pulled into a white-knuckled fist, and the other was gripping the hem of her shirt. She uttered the same words as before, a bit louder this time, and the look on her face came back long enough for Clint to recognize it: _fear_.

Clint called back to his friends. “Hey, guys-”

That’s when the girl let out a short and painful cry, curling her arms around herself and kicking her legs out, like something was attacking her. Her head was tucked down at an unnatural angle, nearly touching her chest. She was hurting, hurting bad.

Immediately, everyone else rushed to the couch. “What’s- what’s wrong with her?” Stark asked frantically.

Steve was already moving. “We need to wake her up-” He reached for the girl, to shake her awake, but the second that his hands touched her, she opened her mouth and screamed.

Clint had never heard that sound come out of a human ever before. It was like the yowl of an animal and the scrape of a blade on metal and sheer desperation and agony.

Clint wasn't religious, not by far, but that scream came from the Devil.

The girl’s eyes flew open, the dark iris swirling with silver, like there was wind underneath her skin. She shot upright, arms raised as if to ward off another attack.

Steve called out her name, reaching for her a second time. But she threw herself away from off, off the couch and onto the floor. She backpedaled violently on her hands, eyes wide and taking in nothing. Maybe she couldn’t see anything except for the war of colors that reflected in her eyes- black and silver, night and smoke.

The others in the room were still trying to figure out what was going on, and they started to approach her, no doubt trying to help. The girl practically ran back into the wall behind her, and kept going- until she reached a corner. She and Clint realized at the same moment that she was trapped.

“Get her, _get her!_ ” Tony’s voice rose above the rest. Clint was sure he meant something far less threatening, but it served its purpose. The air began to shift and writhe around the girl, picking up speed.

Clint did something stupid next: he rushed forward and grabbed the girl’s shoulders.

“No!” The girl cried out, trying to hit him in defense. Clint released her shoulders and instead deflected the punches, grasping her arms tight enough to stop the movement.

“You need to calm down!” Clint told the girl firmly. Her eyes still wouldn’t focus on anything.

“Leave me alone!” She tried to wriggle out of his grip.

“Okay, okay,” Clint said in a softer tone, gently pulling the girl closer to him. “Just take a deep breath, got it?”

The girl’s lungs were heaving, she was still tense, she was still _terrified_. Clint didn’t know what she’d seen in her dreams, but to make one of the most untouchable people he’d met crumble to the floor… it must’ve been…

“Take a deep breath. Come on. You got this. It’s just a breath,” he said in a soothing tone.

The girl took in a shuddering breath, one that rattled in her chest like pennies in the washer. “That’s good.” Clint rubbed her back slowly. “Now just take another breath. One more. Small steps.”

There was a pause when the girl wasn't breathing at all. Worry flashed in Clint’s mind- if she couldn’t calm down, if she lost control… then they’d have a lot more to worry about than Fury’s famous nineteen hour debriefs.

But the girl took a second breath, this one not as ragged as the last. Her eyes were still churning, though, but the black looked like it was finally taking over the silver. Clint gently put a hand on the back of the girl’s neck and slowly lowered her head so it rested on his shoulder. She was shaking enough to be an earthquake, but she wasn't struggling anymore.

“That’s it,” Clint assured her quietly. “We’re just gonna sit here a minute and catch our breath, okay?”

The girl’s breathing slowed, not by much, but enough to make a difference. Clint thought they were getting somewhere when she tensed up all of a sudden, every muscle locking into place.

Clint was quick to react. “Alright, just breathe. It’s okay. You’re not dreaming anymore, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Her arms were pulled tight to her chest, but she was leaning into Clint. Her breaths became more even, she stopped quivering… and eventually, Clint was able to lean back and give her some room.

Steve swooped in a moment later with a glass of water and a dozen comforting replies on his lips. Clint stepped back, and after a bit, the girl stood up by herself.

Scarcely a minute after a panic attack, and she was walking and talking. A bit shaken up, but insisting she was fine.

Maybe Clint should’ve told Fury about the ordeal. Maybe he should’ve reported that the girl was unstable, that she could lose control at the drop of a hat and wipe out Avenger Tower with a single breath.

He didn’t.

Tell Fury, that is. Clint kept his mouth shut, and so did Tasha. Though Tasha wasn't too keen on the idea, she let Clint call the shots on that matter. And Clint decided to _not_ jeopardize the girl’s chances of staying out of a SHIELD cell.

Because the kid was just a kid. And Clint wasn't worried for his safety, or the safety of his friends. He was sort of… worried for her. She was what, fifteen? No child should know what that brand of terror feels like. No child should be in the position she was in.

But she was. And she dealt with it in increasingly confusing ways. Confusing because Clint didn’t expect a kid less than half his age to be so _mature_. The kid always thought about what she did or said before she committed to it. She weighed the consequences of her actions- you could see the gears whirling in her head- and that kind of foresight was incredibly rare in adults, much less a child.

Gale wasn't a child, though. She was… Gale. Which, Clint was discovering, meant not-what-it-seems.

She obviously had gone through those nightmares before. Which meant she’d repeated that experience over and over again, _alone_. When Clint was fifteen, he’d been committing crimes in a circus on a nightly basis. And when he had nightmares, even now, at least he had _someone_. So Clint wasn't going to rat on Gale. That just wasn't right.

See, Clint had a habit of doing what he thought was right- regardless of what he was told to do. In fact, he’d gotten in loads of trouble in the past for disobeying direct orders. Like with Tasha. He was supposed to kill her, but no, she wasn't all bad, she could help them if she had the chance.

Maybe… maybe Gale didn’t have to be treated as a threat. She never acted in hatred towards them. She never shot to kill. She never tried to escape- at least, to his knowledge. And even though he didn’t like the job, he was pretty good at being observation detail.

But of all the foresight that he possessed failed him recently. He missed something, something that was pretty much staring him in the face.

Gale was Asgar- no, only her powers were. Gale’s _powers_ were Asgardian.

How did he miss that? Jesus, he must be getting old. The markings- not the curly ones, the ones on her palms- they were the same language that Thor’s people used. And the whole ‘older than she looked’ deal should’ve been a massive hint.

Gale was a lot of things. Unfortunately, Clint didn’t figure out that ‘stupid’ was one of them until she agreed to a death match, and basically told him to screw off so she could do it _alone_. Yup, stupid was on the list now.

So was dangerous.

Dangerous was number one.

Gale went into the arena shaky. Clint could see the look in her eyes all the way from where he was seated. She got in a hit or two with Ullr- that utter _son of a_ \- but when he started throwing her around like a ragdoll…

Apparently Odin (Patchy Senior, as Clint liked to call him) had put guards around the human Avengers to stop them from interfering. Which was annoyingly efficient, because Clint had to be forced back into his seat every time Ullr so much as approached Gale.

But in the end, Gale didn’t need any help.

Right when Ullr closed his fist around her neck, right when her eyes closed, right when Clint was on the verge of _shooting Ullr in the neck interference be screwed_ \- that’s when she snapped.

Ullr didn’t even stand a chance.

She tore him apart with a flick of her fingers, not a trace of emotion on her face as the god screamed. And when he fell, when his body hit the ground, Clint knew that he- Ullr, the _god_ of duels- was ruined. All Gale did was wave a hand and destroy him with the very thing he created.

The moment he dropped, Clint jumped over the wall of the arena. He’d ran over to Gale, who by then had slowly descended to the ground, but didn’t do anything else- just looked at Ullr.

“Gale,” he called out, approaching the girl.

She turned around. “Barton.”

Her skin was bruised and cut where it wasn't covered, but even though there was dirt and blood, there was a silver sheen to it. Like her wind-marks, which were pulsing and shifting, were leaking into the flesh around it. And her hair was loose and floating behind her like a dark cloud.

And Gale’s eyes had no color left. They were pure mercury- no white, no black, no pupil. No expression was held in them. In that moment she was judge, jury, executioner, and queen. Gale looked completely and utterly… inhuman.

Clint stopped a good twenty feet away from her. “Let’s, uh, let’s calm down,” he suggested in an even tone, hands raised peacefully.

“Calm down?” As if she’d never heard the words before.

Clint tried to look like everything was fine, like Gale didn’t just drop a god in fifteen seconds and could do the same to anyone right then. “Ullr… he’s down for the count. You don’t have to be all scary now.”

He knew he said the wrong thing when the first emotion- a twinge of anger- appeared on Gale’s face. “Scary?” She repeated, voice cold. The wind began to pick up around her, and Barton considered waiting for backup before saying anything else. “ _Scary?_ For just being what I am-”

Sand from the ground kicked up, stinging Clint’s face. He flinched, just a little, but Gale noticed. She saw, and she hesitated- which meant she was still in there, still aware of what she was doing.

Clint kept his eyes locked on hers, even though they were coated in silver. “Gale,” he said in a firmer tone. “Take a breath.”

Footsteps padded behind him, and someone stopped shoulder to shoulder with Clint. He didn’t look up, but judging from the green clothes- _Loki_. Great.

“I- I don’t need to,” Gale refused. The slight anger had faded, and she looked… lost. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong.” The silver pulsed in her eyes, and her wind-marks shifted a bit quicker than before.

“She’s power-giddy,” Loki said from beside Clint. He really wanted to break that dude’s nose, but right now there were bigger problems than that. Namely, the fifteen year-old kid who could bring a god to their knees- and wasn't acting right.

Clint frowned. “Sorry, _power-giddy_?”

Gale shook her head, like she was trying to flick away a fly. “I’m- I lost control. But I’m-” The silver marks pulsed again, more insistent.

“Okay, okay,” Clint said, more gentle now. Just like how he acted during her nightmare- she needed to know she was safe, that no one was going to hurt her. “You lost control, so get it back.”

“It’s not- not that-”

Loki took a half-step forward, causing Clint to glare briefly at his back. “As much as I hate to agree with this pesky Midgardian, _mista ince_ , you need to take a step back.”

Gale closed her eyes, took in a breath that Clint could hear shaking in her chest, and… the silver sheen receded from her skin. The wind-marks were still there, but they slowed. And when Gale opened her eyes again, they were dark again- save for a fleck of silver in a spot or two.

Her body seemed to sag. She swayed for a moment, and Clint realized what was happening a second before Gale did. He rushed forward and grabbed her shoulders, keeping her upright. Gale’s eyes didn’t focus on him immediately, not even when Clint was right in front of here.

“Gale, you good? Gale?” He asked. Gale didn’t respond, and she was still unsteady. Clint started to get worried. He didn’t know how Gale’s people worked, but for someone to be disoriented like this, something had to be wrong- and not in a small way. “Can you hear me? Kid, you alright?”

Then Gale gave a brief nod, and his worry eased up. “I think- just… just got wind-drunk on it all…”

Clint took a little step back, giving her some space. A hint of thanks appeared on Gale’s face, and Clint knew things were gonna be fine.

Loki came up from behind Clint, and Clint couldn’t help but tense up. Maybe now he could punch that smug beanstalk. “That was quite idiotic of you, Gale,” Loki reprimanded, somehow unfazed by the whole situation.

Gale’s eyes flickered towards him. “‘M sorry,” she muttered. “But I’m alive.”

Clint felt a grin break out on his face. “That you are, pipsqueak, that you are.”

Then her eyes turned silver- a brief flash- and Gale’s body gave a little shiver. Clint instantly went back on alert. Even Loki now looked a bit tense. “Gale, are you feeling alright?”

Gale frowned, not aware of what just happened. “Yeah- well, I’m tired, and I might’ve broken more than one rib, but I’ll survive.”

Psh. Like _that_ was convincing.

Clint gave Gale another look over- and saw something he missed before: a blotch of red tucked away on her side. “Featherweight, you’re bleeding-”

Gale glanced down, noticing the injury. “I’m-” She stumbled backwards a step, blinking disorientedly.

Clint’s stomach dropped. “Kid-”

“I’m fine-” Gale tried to repeat, but halted again. The color was gone from her cheeks, and her feet weren’t steady on the ground.

“Gale!” Loki reached out towards the girl, and Clint heard more people coming down from the stands, but all he could see was Gale’s eyes turn silver again, and when the color vanished, the dark irises were glazed and unfocused.

Gale’s body tipped backward before either of the men could reach her.

“ _Gale!_ ” Clint shouted, but she hit the ground with a dull thud, and didn’t move.

Clint was there in the blink of an eye. He kneeled next to Gale, lightly patting her cheek. “Come on, kid, wake up-”

Loki was on the other side of Gale, his fingers resting on her wrist. His frown deepened and he reached for her neck. “No pulse-”

Clint frantically tried to see if she was breathing at all- but her chest wasn't moving, she was still as the _grave_ -

Loki held a hand over her torso, closing his eyes in concentration. Green ripples flashed over his fingers. “It’s- her body-” he sounded panicked, the most emotion Clint had ever seen him show. “She’s shutting down.”

“What does that mean?” Clint raised his voice, trying to brush Gale’s hair out of her face so he could see it clearly. Her skin was already cold- maybe that was just because of the wind- but it didn’t help his nerves.

Loki summoned a little sphere of green light, and flicked it towards Gale. It sunk into her stomach, the emerald glow fading as it went down.

The wind-marks on Gale’s skin suddenly turned a vibrant green, and Loki’s frown eased. But the silver fought back, and the marks oscillated between grey and jade with increasing speed.

“No, no, _no_ -” Loki muttered. “It’s supposed to work. _It’s_ _supposed to work_ -”

Clint’s heartbeat was uncomfortably loud in his ears. He leaned forward, and tilted Gale’s head back and her chin open. Come on, this had to work, this _had_ to work. Clint laced his hands together, placed them over Gale’s chest, and pushed down. Her bones seemed to give in so easy, he thought he was doing it all wrong. But he couldn’t do nothing- so he repeated the motion again and again, forcing Gale’s lungs to move.

More footsteps behind them. Someone skidded to a halt besides Clint- Bruce.

“Move, move, _move_ ,” Bruce ordered, not bothering to spare him a glance. Clint scrambled around so he was behind Gale’s head instead, and Bruce took his place on the girl’s right.

People from the crowd were filling in the space around them, trying to see what was happening. Clint gritted his teeth. If they didn’t get out of the way soon, he was gonna-

“Back, all of you!” Odin’s voice boomed. “Guards!”

 _About time_ , Clint thought to himself.

The guards started to push the people back to the edges and into the stands, but Clint could still hear them, could still see them.

He turned back to Gale. Bruce was trying to see where Gale was wounded, but her armor covered the spots that were leaking red-

“Let me through, son,” another person spoke. Clint watched Frigga kneel next to Loki, taking in Gale’s appearance.

“She’s- she’s not breathing, her heart isn’t beating-” Clint tried to explain.

Frigga spared him a brief look. “I know,” she replied calmly. “Loki, the _eless_ spell.”

“I tried that.”

Frigga took in a breath. “The _eless_ did not work?” She looked at Gale for a moment. “Dr. Banner, the physical wound will not kill her but the shock will. Can you keep her stable while we work?”

Bruce nodded, and Frigga immediately reached toward Gale’s head. She placed one hand on her forehead and the other on her chest, just below her throat. “We need space,” Frigga said quietly.

“Right, right.” Clint was about to stand, but Frigga shook her head at him.

“I need you to keep her head still,” the queen told him. “In case she reacts… badly.”

There was a sick feeling in Clint’s gut. “Badly?”

But Frigga had turned back to Gale, and gave a final look to Loki and Bruce. “Be ready,” she warned, and then closed her eyes.

Her hands at Gale’s head and chest began to glow, and golden light emanated from her skin. It fell gently downwards and seeped into Gale’s body. Frigga opened her eyes. Loki’s hands were raised, but he was focused on the girl in front of him. Even Bruce, who was in the midst of examining Gale’s wound, was watching anxiously.

Then Gale’s body suddenly seized. Flashed of gold and green echoed under her bare skin. Her silver marks instantly shone brighter than before, and they writhed up and down her arms.

Clint clamped his hands down on either side of Gale’s head to keep it from whipping side to side. “Come on, kid,” he muttered, knowing full well that Gale couldn’t hear him. If Clint was religious, he’d say there was a demon in the air.

Bruce was trying to keep Gale’s torso from moving too much and worsening the wound. Clint could see him sweating- and at this point, he himself wasn’t feeling too calm either.

Frigga and Loki doubled their efforts, sending waves of gold and green light cascading over the girl’s body. “It’s not working-” Loki grunted.

Gale’s wind-marks were spinning wildly, like a living net that kept whatever was going on inside of her… inside. Clint knew he shouldn’t be this worried, this anxious about it- after all, he’d been on countless missions when everything turned upside-down and went to the dogs. But Gale was a kid, Gale had _won_ that fight, Gale didn’t deserve… whatever was happening.

Bruce let out a sudden sound. “Stop- _stop_!” He ordered. “It’s making it worse!”

Clint looked down to Gale’s side, and saw that the red blotch was steadily growing bigger. Frigga and Loki immediately ceased their magic as soon as they saw it.

Loki shook his head. “It… not even with combined efforts…”

The wind marks had slowed their pace as the light under Gale’s skin began to fade, but they were still in constant motion. Clint glanced at Gale’s face- still nothing. Not a twitch. Her skin was colder than before.

Frigga looked over Gale’s body. “I don’t understand. It’s like she’s rejecting any foreign aid.”

But before anyone could reply, there was a faint chuckle from the sides.

Clint turned around, and saw Ullr- Ullr, lying on the ground, bloody and beaten. Ullr, whose eyes were half open and whose lips were curled upwards in a smile.

“You…” he uttered raggedly. “You thought… she’d be… safe…”

Clint’s blood ran cold. “You filthy God-forsaken-”

Loki jumped in before Clint could finish. “What do you mean, _Ullr_?” He stood up and swiftly walked over to where the god lay, looking down at him with contempt.

Ullr grinned, the motion painful for him. “She’s… got a bit of… _me_ … in her.”

Clint watched Loki summon a shard of green light in one hand, and point it threateningly at Ullr. “Explain.”

“She doesn’t... understand… the conditions of her… gift. The… _fine print_.” Ullr coughed, a wet sound that stuck in his chest.

Loki crouched down so he was more or less eye to eye with Ullr. The piece of green magic in his hand was touching Ullr’s throat- and even as hurt as the Ullr was, he had to feel that. “If you do not begin to make sense of what you speak-”

Ullr closed his eyes. “For someone… as powerful as… her… the act of channeling that… that much…” He let out another cough, but one that sounded more like a laugh. “It’s… surprising… that she hasn’t…become one of… _them_ yet. But soon… she can’t hold out… forever… she’ll be one of them… before the sun is… set...”

That wasn't ominous. Not at _all_.

“One of who? Who is ‘them’?” Loki demanded.

Ullr’s dark eyes fixed on Gale, and Clint saw a gleam of cruel satisfaction in them. He saw Ullr take pleasure knowing that Gale was still as morning air, that her skin was more silver than fair, that she was as cold to the touch as frost.

“A… _wind_.”

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

“Hey, Clint.”

Clint jerked his head up at the mention of his name. “Hm?” He said, looking around. “Yeah?”

Tony gave him a look from the other couch. “Dude, that’s the third time you’ve spaced out today.”

Clint rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat. “Like that’s a crime.”

Steve, who was sitting in an armchair to Clint’s right, leaned forward. “Clint, you’re not really… yourself.”

“Psh, of course I’m myself, who else would I be?” Clint snorted.

Tony nodded. “Right, right, so what was I just saying?”

Crud. “Uh… your next Iron Man suit,” he guessed. “It’s cool. Totally awesome.”

Tony and Steve shared a look. “Uh, nuh-uh.” Clint wagged a finger at them. “I saw that. What was that for?”

“Your noggin just isn’t in the here and now.” Tony shrugged, propping his feet up on a coffee table. “Whatcha got bouncing around in there?”

Clint sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing, nothing. It’s all cool, guys.”

Steve took in a breath and rubbed his hands together. “Is this about the suspension?”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Whoa whoa whoa- suspension? As in you, Hawkeye, _Avenger_ \- got a suspension?”

Clint stared down at the innocent coffee table. “I got that after a three hour lecture from Fury. You wouldn’t believe how long he can yell and still keep his voice afterwards.”

Steve winced. “He really tore into you, didn’t he?”

”I can’t believe there’s enough of me left unscathed to talk with you now,” Clint joked.

Tony grinned, lacing his fingers behind his head. “For all your good eyesight, you couldn’t see that one coming?”

Clint picked up a to-go coffee cup from the table and chucked it at Tony, hitting him square on the nose. “Hey!” The billionaire cried, glaring at Clint while Steve let out a chuckle.

“Really, Legolas?” Tony made a face. “I need my rugged good looks to survive, man. This is just cruel.”

Another collective laugh. Once it died down, Clint glanced at his watch.

“Okay, that’s it for the night,” he announced, standing up. “See ya tomorrow.”

With two ‘goodnight’s echoing behind him, Clint walked out of the main room in the Tower, and towards the elevators. He went up a handful of floors, the ride passing in silence, and went down a hallway before stopping in front of a single door.

Clint paused for a moment, then twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Bruce looked up from where he was standing, beside the only bed in the room. “Clint, hey,” Bruce greeted him. “Just finished checking up.”

Clint nodded, and moved over to the bed. He looked over the machines standing nearby- and the person they were hooked up to.

Bruce caught him looking. “She’s fine, you know. Heart’s still beating, she’s breathing on her own. Just…”

“Asleep,” Clint finished. He glanced up at Bruce. “I’m good to take a night shift. Not like I’ve got anywhere to go in the morning.”

Bruce was quiet for a moment. “You sure? Pepper volunteered-”

“She’s got a company to run. I’ll be fine.”

The scientist gave Clint a little nod. “Alright. I’ll be… well, you know where to find me.” He exited the room, closing the door behind him. Then the room was silent.

Clint put his hands in his pockets, looking down at Gale.

She was just… lying there. Tucked into the blankets like a little kid, like she really was her age and not the years she acted as.

“Hey, kid.”

She didn’t respond.

“Just so you know, anytime you wanna wake up, it’s good with me. Well, we’re gonna have to talk about you hijacking my pizza delivery system. And the hot air in the vents. And the whole throwing gravel at my face.”

 _Beep, beep, beep_ , went the machine.

“Stupid kid. Fighting a god, of all things. You’re really messed up, you know that?”

_Beep, beep, beep_

“Lucky for you, so am I.”

_Beep, beep, beep_

“Oh, yeah. I’m a jerk. A real stupid jerk.”

_Beep, beep, beep_

“Nat’s gonna be here any minute. I know she’s been taking watch a bunch. Sorry about that. Fury gave me a suspension, so I guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. Sorry about that too.”

Clint pulled a folding chair from the corner of the room and placed it next to the bed. He sat down, getting comfortable in it. “JARVIS?” He called out.

“Yes, Agent Barton?”

“Remove the shade on the windows, will ya?”

“Certainly.”

On the wall opposite the door, the tinted glass faded, revealing the city just beyond it. It was nighttime, and all of the lights shone brightly under the dark sky. If he closed his eyes half-way, Clint could almost imagine that they were stars that fell to the ground and pooled around the buildings.

“Now I get it,” he said quietly. “What you said on the Quinjet, when I was bringing you from the Helicarrier back to here. I understand it now.”

He spent a moment just looking out at the city, drinking it all in.

“If I could fly, I don’t think I could ever resist it. Not when the world looks like this.”

For a second, he expected Gale to chime in with a scathing remark about her being right all the time.

_Beep, beep, beep_

“How long has it been since you’ve flown, kiddo? Bet it must be a while.”

_Beep, beep, beep_

“Must be the best feeling in the whole universe. Soaring above everyone else, no one to bother you, no one to tell you what to do.”

_Beep, beep, beep_

“Alright, pipsqueak, I get it. I’ll shut up now. Let you get some shut eye. You deserve it. After all, you just beat a god.”

_Beep, beep, beep_

“Gonna hafta watch my pizza system closer now, won’t I?”

_Beep, beep, beep_

Author's Note:

ha

you thought this chapter would be better

but guess what

IT'S NOT

MWAHAHAHAHA

Okay, okay. Seriously though, the next couple of chapters aren't gonna be as painful as the last few. So there's your good news. And, seeing as the next part of our story is unfolding, I'm opening up an opportunity to you readers: characters.

That's right, I'm taking characters. Not that many, though, and not for long. It's pretty much free range, save for a few caveats- they're from the Teneo (which means you get to decide their legacy, you lucky person) and they aren't going to be virtual rays of sunshine (aka, not super nice guys). Other than that- gender, age, appearance, personality, ethnicity- guys, it's all up to you. Just message me or put it in the comments, and I'll do what I can.

I just figured I should let you do something cool as an apology for the whole Ullr situation (heheheheh).

Have fun :)


	33. Of queens and strange voices

_There were lots of things that I didn't know when I was little._

_The world was bigger than I understood, the people in it more different than I thought, the simple act of living more... complex than I assumed. Then again, I was young, and I didn't busy myself with learning everything there was to know._

_I didn't know what life would be without my parents._

_I just knew that every morning, they'd wake me up with a smile. I knew that each day, they'd show me new plants in the garden and read me new stories. I knew that each night, they'd tuck me in with a kiss and a promise to be there when dawn came. I simply knew that every moment of my life, they'd be there._

_Until they weren't._

_Alexei was the first to find out._

_I remember how he looked at them, at the way they lay on the ground. The way Mama's hair looked like a halo of blood around her head. The way that Papa's eyes were fixed on nothing, the grey finally gone still._

_The way I was kneeling on the floor between them, motionless and silent._

_I remember the way he was suddenly next to me, holding me tight against his chest, tucking my head away from the morbid scene. I remember how he rocked back and forth, whether to comfort me or himself I didn't know. I remember how his hands trembled as he stroked my hair, whispering prayers all the while. And I remember how his breath caught in his throat as he tried to keep his sobs hidden in his chest._

_I remember I didn't move. I just let him hold me. There was no damage that could've been done past that point-_

_I'd been sitting there for five hours._

_While I was remembering things, I suppose I should've known what would come next._

_"Once upon a time," Mama began, because they always started with 'once upon a time'._

_"There was a little girl."_

( _In the later years, I would ask Mama who the girl was, and she'd smile and tap the end of my nose. 'You'll see,' she'd say. 'You'll see')_

_"Well, this little one was something special. She wasn't a princess, but she was as deserving of that title as anyone. And this girl, even though she was just a baby, knew that someday... she'd be something entirely different than what everyone thought she'd turn out as."_

_('A hero?' I'd ask, and Mama would laugh. 'I'm telling the story,' she'd reply. 'You'll see')_

_"As the girl grew up, she learned things about the world that most people never learn. She was taught how there was magic to be found in every single thread of the universe, how only some people could see those threads in the first place, and how she was one of those people."_

_('Threads of rock, threads of sea, threads of flame' Mama would sometimes add. 'Threads of wind')_

_"And she eventually learned that not everyone would love her. Not everyone would want her to exist. Because there were people in this world who hated everything that the girl stood for. Who hated everything she meant, everything she symbolized."_

_('What did she do, Mama?')_

_"The girl could've ran from the hate. She could have pretended that she couldn't feel it. She even could've thrown hate of her own back at those people. But she didn't. Instead, she decided to stand for exactly the same things. She decided to mean exactly what she meant, and to be a symbol for everything she used to be."_

_('And, Gale, remember this')_

_"This girl, she did all of that for many reasons, some of which nobody else would ever know, but there was a single thought that stuck in her mind like frost on the first day of spring."_

_('And that one thought was, my dear Gale...')_

_"Someone once told the girl this: Walk like there is a crown on your head. And even though you cannot see it... eventually, everyone else will."_

_('But you said she wasn't a princess, Mama')_

_"Not royal by birth, but royal by nature."_

_('You'll see, Gale, that's what you can do. Because even if there are no princesses left in the world...')_

_"In the end, there will be a queen."_

_('You'll see, my little kozel. When the dust settles, there will be a queen. You'll see.)_

_You'll see._

_But I don't see, Mama. I don't see. Not anymore._

_Maybe the dust has settled, but there's dirt in my eyes and I don't see. Wasn't there supposed to be a queen, Mama? A queen that was never a princess and a kind world that was never cruel?_

_Well, it's full of princesses that cannot be queens and a world that may know kindness but is yet to show me any._

_I thought there would be a queen. Even though I loved the histories and epics more than fantasies and fairy tales, I still liked your story, Mama._

_I thought I was supposed to find a queen, Mama._

_Is there no queen in this world?_

_No, you wove a story like sunlight in the dark. If you said there was a queen, then there was a queen. Oh- but what if you were the queen, Mama? Were you? It fits, I suppose. You were royal by nature and stood for everything people hated you for. You were a queen, Mama._

_And- now it's all falling into place, Mama- if you were the queen, then it makes sense that I cannot see nowadays._

_For you were the queen, and the queen fell. Now there's only a..._

_Queenkiller._

_"Maithri."_

_I looked around me. None of the others seated around the circle looked like they had a clue. I shifted in my seat, unsure of whether to respond or not._

_Konstantin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "None of you have any idea what it means?"_

_"Don't see why I need to know what a made up word means," a girl to my right snorted. "Seems like a bunch of nonsense-"_

_Without meaning to, I knotted my fingers in the hem of my shirt. Being disrespectful to Konstantin- you just didn't do it. I learned that lesson the first day I left Alexei's care._

_But Konstantin noticed the fidgety movements, and fixed his pale blue eyes on me. "Yes, Gale? You have a thought to share?"_

_I sucked in a breath, keeping my eyes on the thinly carpeted floor. "Maithri is an old word," I said quietly, making sure my voice was even. "It means 'control'. As in control of one's self, or another entity."_

_"Correct, Gale." Anyone could hear the praise in Konstantin's voice._

_I heard a scoff on my right. "Great, we've got a teacher's pet."_

_Glancing upwards, I saw Konstantin frown at the other girl. "Power comes in many forms," he reprimanded her. "Knowledge is one. Control is another."_

_The girl tossed her head and gave her fingers a tiny, subtle wiggle. I heard a crackle in my ears and winced at the feeling. Glaring at the other girl's feet, I kept my gaze averted. I didn't need to look at the rest of these people to know exactly how to consider them- a waste of my time. But it wasn't that to Konstantin, and if he wanted me to put up something, I put up with it._

_Speaking of Konstantin, I saw him give me a look that few others could interpret: he wanted me to respond._

_"If you have an issue with me," I said, louder than before. "Let's take this outside. Go a few rounds. See if you're still laughing at me afterwards."_

_Konstantin actually let a minuscule grin out. "I would back down if I were you," he addressed the girl. "Gale here is capable of tearing down buildings with a stiff breeze and a snap."_

_Immediately, there was a ripple around the room. The others shifted, eyes flitting about, and instantly there was an air of discomfort. I could feel them peering at me, looking at me in a way that they didn't before. I didn't give them the satisfaction of returning their stares._

_"You're joking," another person said- a mere boy, really. "She can't be more than eleven."_

_"Thirteen, actually," Konstantin smoothly corrected him. "And she has more power in her pinky than most Teneo ever dream of."_

_I knew they were still looking at me. I just didn't care. I kept my hands curled around the edge of my black shirt, staring at the floor._

_"Now," Konstantin continued, flicking an imaginary dust mote off of his grey suit. "If any of you has a doubt about what the purpose of this gathering is, or about the liability of the members, the door is on the left."_

_No one moved._

_Konstantin grinned again. He must've been in a good mood today. "Since that's settled, on to the pursuit of power- and yes, for you skeptics, today power comes by knowledge. So..._

_"Who can tell me what 'loctha' means?"_

_Looking back on it, I should've walked out that door._

_But then again, if I did, then I'd never end up where I was right now. Which was..._

_I knew where I was, of course I did. I was..._

_I was..._

_Where was I?_

_I felt something strange- a thud, somewhere below me. It echoed in- space, it was echoing in a large space- one that wasn't there a moment ago._

_Thud._

_Thud._

_Thud._

_It kept repeating, in an even, steady beat._

_Where was I?_

_I started to worry- if I didn't know where I was-_

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

_It was picking up pace._

_I sucked in a breath- wait- that was strange, that was new- was I not breathing before?_

_Thud, thud, thud._

_The sound was definitely coming from below me, but I couldn't see- sight, I had sight. What was wrong with my eyes?_

_Thud, thud, thud._

_Then another sound- a voice, someone was speaking. Good, another memory I could follow like a loose string in a sweater. The thuds, they were just the prelude to a thought-_

_But- I didn't recognize the voice._

_Thud thud thud._

_Something was wrong. I didn't know where I was, I didn't know who was talking. They sounded like they were underwater; I couldn't tell what they were saying. Wait- was I underwater? Was I drowning?_

_An ache appeared in the same place where the thuds were coming from. I was suddenly, painfully aware of something heavy in front of my face... my eyes. That's where my eyes were._

_I tried pulling at that weight, and the voices in the background became the tinniest bit clearer._

_With new-found determination, I yanked and heaved and pried at the thing over my eyes. Every ounce of my strength was pouring into removing the weight, and just when I thought it was hopeless-_

_Light._

_All of a sudden I realized that I'd been in the dark this entire time. But with a speck of light- a pinprick, really- I could get out of the darkness._

_I threw myself at, at the light, and everything just-_

_-snapped-_

"Bruce, get over here!"

"Jesus, Clint, I'm doing a million things right now!"

"I saw her eyelid twitch!"

"Well _good for you_! I'm just trying to make sure the simple stuff is good, like her _heart,_ which is the thing keeping her _alive_!"

The light in front of me was a reddish color. I could still hear the _thud thud thud_ , but it was quieter now. Slowly, my nerves began to shake awake, tingling down my arms and legs- I could feel them, I realized. But the light was still different, and it took me awhile to notice that... if my eyes were there... but I wasn't seeing anything... then they were closed and if they were closed then I could open them.

"Bruce- _BruceBruceBruceBruceBruce-"_

"What?!"

"She did it again!"

_"What?!"_

Light appeared again, but harsh and bright. It made my eyes ache, and I wanted it to stop hurting-

"Hey, hey kid, come on, you got this, don't close your eyes."

They knew me. Whoever was talking, they knew me. And if they knew me, then maybe I should do what they say...

"Clint, I need you to- seriously, give me some space."

"Shut up."

"Clint!"

I felt a pressure on my hand. The contact gave me another wave of determination, and with the dregs of my willpower, I pulled at my eyes.

Purple.

That was the first thing I saw. Purple. Then a paler blob above that. Everything else was bright, on the verge of blinding.

"Kid, hey kid," the voice said again. Faintly, I noticed that it came from the mostly-purple thing above me. "It's okay, pipsqueak, you're okay, take it easy."

Talking. I knew that I could talk. But when I tried to respond, only a pathetic wheeze came from my mouth.

"Clint! Space. _Now_." The other voice said, and the purple blob got shoved to the side by another blob. This one was wearing white, though. "Gale, I need you to look at me. Can you do that? Can you focus on me?"

My eyes twitched, and the blob became a little less blurry. I felt a rush of air escape me as I tried to talk again- no sound, just empty breath. 

"Gale, do you know where you are?" The white blob asked.

No, I didn't. All I remembered was Mama's story about a queen, and Konstantin's gathering, and- _Ullr_ -

_Thudthudthudthud_

"Gale- you need to calm down-"

_Ullr smiling like a shark_

_Ullr kicking me when I told him who I was_

_Ullr challenging me to a death match_

"Clint! Get her to calm down!"

_Ullr dressed in dark armor_

_Ullr laughing as he threw me into the ground_

_Ullr smiling as he closed his fist around my throat_

"Gale, hey featherweight, you're safe." The pressure was back on my hand.

_Ullr with his iron grey marks_

"You're safe, kid. No one's gonna hurt you. You're back on Earth, Ullr isn't here, he's locked up. You're good, kiddo."

_"Just take a deep breath, got it?"_

"Just take a breath, Gale."

_I remembered a couch, and a movie about a war in the stars, and a nightmare._

_"Alright, Gale, just breathe. It's okay. You're not dreaming anymore, you're okay, you're safe_."

"Nothing is gonna hurt you. Everything is okay. You're not sleeping anymore, you're safe."

I felt another breath flood into my lungs, and felt the tension leave with it. The blob above me came more into focus- a face, with a nose and eyes and a mouth.

The face smiled at me. "There we go, featherweight, just like that."

The other blob- _person_ , the other person- shook their head. "Sure you don't wanna be a doctor, Clint?" They muttered.

"Shut it, Bruce." The face was still looking at me, a tad uncertainly. "Kid... you know who I am?"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I had the answer- it just wasn't coming to me right now. But without me thinking about it, my left thumb was twitching. It slowly crossed my palm and touched the base of my ring finger.

Vaguely, I realized that the pressure on that hand was gone, and instead, the person who was standing at my side had flipped my hand over. They saw the gesture, and a hint of a smile appeared on their face.

_B_ , I thought. It's the letter _B_ , in... some language, the name of which I couldn't recall.

"Nice to have you back, kid," the man (B, I guess) said. "Pepper's gonna be thrilled when we tell her."

Pepper... like the kind with salt?

B turned to the other man- doctor, the word came back- and patted him on the back. "Good job, buddy. I'll stick around here if you'll tell the others-"

"Me, leave?" The doctor snorted. "Gale just woke up from a _coma_ -"

"And I'm sure you've done all you need to," B rolled his eyes.

The doctor crossed his arms. "Really, Clint? For all we know, Gale doesn't remember anything."

B was quiet for a moment. They glanced back down at me, and I stared back. "Gale... she signed 'b'. As in Barton."

"Muscle memory, Clint. That tends to stay longer than other things. Names, faces, places- they're the ones that slip the easiest." The doctor looked down at me. "As much as I'd like to think that Gale- _your_ Gale- is in there... we just have to consider every possibility."

B shook his head. "But I've been in bad shape before, and I've been asleep for a while, but I came out right-side up."

"You're not her," the doctor told him softly. "And you know that none of us have ever met someone like Gale before." His eyes flickered down to me before he started moving towards the door. "I'll find the others. If something happens while I'm gone, call JARVIS and try to keep her calm."

The doctor vanished from my sight, and then only B was left.

B sighed, and sat down on a chair next to me. He was quiet, and I didn't think I'd be able to talk, so there was an odd sort of silence in the air.

He looked at the floor, lost in thought. I eventually focused on myself- trying to shake my limbs awake, trying to give my brain a jump start. It was slow going, but after a couple of minutes, I thought I was able to wiggle my fingers pretty confidently.

"You gave us a real scare, kid," B spoke up, all of a sudden. He was still staring off into the distance. "Even the Asgardian healers couldn't figure out what was wrong with you."

He let out another breath and rubbed his hands along the front of his jeans. "We got you back here quick as possible, but no one knew what was happening. You were just... there. Eventually we had to just let you be, and then you were asleep. Bruce thought your body had to heal on its own. Obviously that worked. We just didn't know how long it would take."

How long...

Then how long was I... asleep?

Almost like he'd read my mind, B chuckled. "But you're awake now. Jesus, it's been... a while."

He looked me in the eyes, and even though I was half-aware of everything that was going on right now, I could tell that right now he was just relieved. "It's been a month, Gale." B let out a sort-of laugh. "A stupid, boring month."

A month.

That seemed like a long time.

B grinned at me. "Even if Bruce is right and your head needs a good whack to get it working again, like I said...

"It's good to have you back."

Author's Note: Short chapter, I know. I just figured you guys needed some resolution after the last chapter (sorry not sorry). And I had to figure out where to divide this chapter and the next, and this was the most logical place to do it.

Also, just a heads-up on the whole character stuff: I've started pulling the ones I like from the list (the very _long_ list, thank you guys so much for your participation). Everything is fine- I just need more guys. It's not a problem with the characters I've received, it's just that there's thirty gals and like, two dudes. For the openings I have in mind with my story, I need to balance out the XX to XY chromosomes a bit more. If you've got an idea for a guy, awesome sauce! If you've got an idea for a girl, I'm still taking them! If you've already submitted a character, go for another! I don't care how many characters you've offered, or how wild your imagination runs. This is reader-participation, so it's all up to you.

Hope you guys buckle in for the ride, because (ominous bassoon playing in the background)...

We've got some old friends to introduce in the next chapter.

:)


	34. Keep the past quiet

Author's Note: Okay, I just have to bring attention to this comment:

'Aw yea swooshy boi be back, with amnesia' ([AgentDiamondMC](https://www.quotev.com/AgentDiamondMC))

Never did I once consider Gale as a 'swooshy boi', but now I'll never get that out of my head. Thank you, dear reader, for making me snort chocolate milk on my keyboard. You have brought great happiness to this world.

On another note, all of my character spots have been filled. I'm sorry, but requests are officially closed. A huge 'Thank you' to all who participated (and remember, just because your character wasn't chosen this round doesn't mean I won't find an opening for them later on in the story). Your ideas were truly magnificent and I enjoyed reading each and every one of them.

And also, because I want to add this here instead of at the end of the chapter (cuz I feel like it'll take away from the impact), prepare yourself. I ain't lying when I say that I don't pull punches in my writing and character development. 

(And also, Part Two) Here's the translations list, in advance:

Translations (everything is in Erui Lammen, unless stated otherwise):

gwest-o dîn: oath of silence

athumo: friend at need

Erui Lammen: 'first tongue', an ancient language not too dissimilar from the language of magic

Ilúve: the formal name for Erui Lammen, meaning 'whole'

cwingron: archer

ton-bar: 'to knock' and 'a home or dwelling'

naika: dagger

naiqua: to sin

naike: immense pain

naiquet: a great curse

lob-had i tunn: run for the hills

rhach de, Gale: Curse you, Gale

hyriaith: gale (as in a strong wind)

gail-fech: a bad omen

maimelion: dear, beloved

With that, enjoy the chapter.

The picture was of a woman this time, with serious eyes and brown hair neatly pulled back in a bun. _M. Hill_ , was written at the bottom.

"What about her?"

"What _about_ her?"

"What do you remember about this woman?"

"Uh..."

- _"Get down on the ground!"-_

"Gale?"

"She... was yelling at me. Telling me to drop to the ground."

"And?"

"I didn't."

"You remember that?"

"No, but I know I'm not the kind to follow orders."

The doctor sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gale-"

"What do you want me to say?" I interrupted. "'Sorry guys, I know my name and that's about it'?"

Dr. Banner frowned. "But you _do_ remember more than your name."

I turned up my nose at him. "My name's all you're getting. I already told you, I'm not-"

"Giving up your past, because you won't betray your people," Dr. Banner finished with the air of someone who's heard it a thousand times. Which, to be fair, he probably has.

"At least _you_ remember something," I muttered, crossing my arms. 

The moment I did that, my side stung. I winced, trying to hide the movement, but Dr. Banner unfortunately noticed. "Did you-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" I protested, but the man was already prodding at my ribs. Before I could stop myself, a hiss of discomfort escaped me.

Dr. Banner gave me a look. " _Really?"_

I rolled my eyes, but stopped trying to wiggle out of his reach. He took a look at my side, seemed to find it passable, and settled back in his chair. "Satisfied?" I asked him dryly.

"Look," Dr. Banner said, clearly venturing into the irritated zone. "I have no idea how your body works. You're human- for the most part. I can fix humans. But as for the part that isn't- Gale, just look at your arms. You can't possibly think that _that's_ normal."

I refused to give him the satisfaction. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dr. Banner made a sound of exasperation, throwing his hands up in the hair. "Fine! If that's how you want to do this-" He broke off mid-sentence and abruptly went to the door. Just as he was about to throw open the door, someone else did from the other side.

"Whoa, hey," Barton said in surprise. "Were you-"

Dr. Banner pushed past him, grumbling about stubborn people all the way into the hallway. Barton raised his eyebrows, just standing there for a moment. "-leaving?" he finished unnecessarily.

I shifted in the bed, pulling myself more upright. "Hey, B," I greeted him.

"What was _that_?" Barton jerked a thumb back over his shoulder as he sat down in Dr. Banner's seat, making himself comfy.

I waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing. He was trying to get me to remember some woman who evidently has something to do with why I'm here. An M. Hill. You know anything about that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't the point for _you_ to remember it, not me?"

"I wouldn't have to remember _anything_ if I wasn't in your care to begin with."

"You don't know that. You can't _remember_."

"Oh, so you're saying if I never met you people in the first place, I'd still have amnesia."

"It's post-traumatic amnesia. And-"

"-ooh, look who learned a new word.-"

"-you're _technically_ correct, but do you really want to get into an argument about it?" Barton scratched at the front of his jeans. "Besides, I come bearing gifts."

I perked up at that. "Seriously? I don't see any confetti or ribbons."

Barton let out a short laugh at that, and got to his feet. "Just roll with it, Gale." He looked down at the bed I was in, and a frown appeared on his face. "Problem is, you're not clear to walk around yet..."

I shrugged. "I mean, unless you can snap your fingers and get me back to normal, whatcha gonna do?"

He scratched the back of his neck, thinking about something. "Well, I suppose..."

Before I realized what was happening, Barton was standing right next to me. He leaned down, put one arm behind my back and the other under my knees, and scooped me up like I weighed nothing.

"Whoa, dude!" I said in surprise. "Easy does it. Don't send me flying into the stratosphere."

"Sorry," he apologized, adjusted his grip. "I know you're not big on the whole 'physical contact' thing." There was a pause when I wiggled so that my arm wasn't crushed against his chest. "You... you good?"

"Yeah," I replied quietly. "You're fine. Let's just not take longer than we need, capiche?"

"Right, right." Barton moved to the door.

We exited into the hall and started off to the left, heading towards the elevators. It was a quick ride in silence, only going up two or three floors. As Barton walked to a door at the end of _that_ hallway, he tried to tread smoothly, which I appreciated. Three days since I woke up and I _still_ felt like throwing up when I was bumped around.

Barton managed to awkwardly open the door without dropping me. I squinted my eyes as bright daylight flooded in, making my head hurt. 

"Almost there, Gale," he reassured me, taking a few more steps forward. There was a crunching sound- gravel?

"Says you," I muttered, eyes still closed. "'s too bright out here. Why are we outside?"

Barton chuckled, and I felt him lower me down onto a chair or something. "Open your eyes, kid."

Curiosity taking over, I did just that.

Before me lay New York City in the afternoon. The sun was glinting off the windows in skyscrapers, the sounds of car horns and crowds were rising up from the streets, and the smell of smog and hot dogs was definitely present. I just stared at it all, drinking everything in for all it was worth.

"This is..." I exhaled. Then I felt a hum in my chest- barely there, but _there_. I looked up at Barton in surprise, who had a little smile on his face. "I can't believe it. This tower's built on a-"

"Ley line," Barton finished, taking a seat on the bare gravel beneath him, spreading his legs out in front of him. "I know. They're good for you, right?"

"How in the nine realms-" I cut myself off as the answer came to me. "I told you. Well, the other me told you. I mean-"

"Relax, kid, I get it." Barton nodded in my direction. "You comfy enough? Should I get a blanket or something?"

I shook my head. "No, it's nice to feel the wind again." Shifting around in the lawn chair, I leaned my head back and watched the clouds slowly move across the blue sky. "Did I come up here often?"

"That's an understatement," he replied. "You all but dragged me out here whenever you got the chance."

I frowned. "Why would I bring you? I mean, I get that you seem to stick around me more than Dr. Banner, but why?"

Barton was occupied with scooping the grave into little walls. "'Cause... have they told you about SHIELD yet?"

"Ugh," I groaned. "A secret government organization intent on keeping me under lock and key. How could I forget?"

"Definitely yes, then." He glanced up at me. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on you."

My head tilted to the side as I wrapped my mind around that. "Oh. So like... observation detail?"

Barton cracked a grin. "Or a government appointed stalker."

"Amen to that, B."

A flock of pigeons swooped by, and we both ceased talking so we could watch them for a minute. I felt the breeze coming off of the mass's edges, the slipstream, and for a moment I had the sudden urge to leap off the side of the building and join them.

There was a flicker of cold on my arms, and the urge vanished.

"Gale..." Barton started, and I realized that he'd been trying to get my attention.

"Yeah, sorry." I blinked a couple times, clearing my head of mercury thoughts. "You were saying?"

"How're your arms doing?" He asked. "Bruce told me that you said they didn't hurt, but you spaced out for a sec, and I swore they looked a little more grey."

I held my arms out in front of me, palm up. Tracing along the skin were pale scars, a silvery color that was slightly visible. Like someone had pressed spider-webs into my flesh- only these scars... they traced the wind marks. They felt like an anchor, like there was nowhere left to hide the abnormal parts of me. It was a heavy feeling too, knowing that I used the wind to scar Ullr, and it scarred me just as easily.

"Gale?" Barton asked again, concern leaking into his voice.

"I'm fine," I told him, still looking at my arms. Even though the shirt I was wearing had short sleeves, I knew that the scars wound around my shoulders and down my back, marking me from every angle.

"You don't look fine."

I shot him a glare. "I said I'm _fine_."

Barton seemed unfazed by my change in attitude. "I've learned over the past... three months, since I've known you, that 'I'm fine' in Gale-speak means 'something is definitely not fine but I'm too stubborn and mysterious to admit it'."

"So you really do know me after all, huh?"

"I'm just saying that I know you'll never tell anyone what's bugging you unless you literally drop dead." Barton gave me the _most_ 'you know I'm right' look that I'd ever seen. "Current case included."

"Okay," I retorted. "Over-exaggerating much?"

"Let's review." Barton sat up, looking me straight in the eye. "You: first, got into a death fight with a god because of your family tree, something that you _didn't_ tell us; second, proceeded to lose the fight because you were under prepared, which you _didn't_ tell us; and third, after you went nuclear on Ullr, you collapsed and got amnesia because _you can turn into a wind_ , which you- oh, let's see if I can guess this one- _didn't tell us_!"

But as soon as Barton had mentioned Ullr, my brain went to static.

_Ullr drawing first blood._

_Ullr choking the breath- and the life- out of me._

_Everything was hurting so much that I couldn't move, couldn't think about moving-_

"Gale!"

My eyes snapped up. Barton had reappeared next to the lawn chair, more than worried. "Kid, what happened?"

"I-" I gave my head a little shake. _Mercury thoughts, iron thoughts_ , part of my mind went. _There's still a bit of metal in you_.

"I'm getting Bruce." Barton stood up with every intention of heading for the door, but I reached up and snagged his shirt sleeve.

"I'm fine, okay?" I told him. "Just... you said his name. Caught me off guard, that's all."

Barton's face fell. "Jesus, Gale, I didn't mean to-"

"You can make it up to me by _not_ getting the most likely ticked off doctor."

He took his old seat on the ground back, throwing a cautious look my way every couple seconds. I rolled my eyes. "Relax, B. I'm..." I took in a breath. "It's just... he's my last concrete memory, you know? I remember that fight. I remember hurting him- and then touching back down to the ground. But everything before and after that is just..." I gave an exasperated sigh. "I just can't remember anything since December. It was snowing last time I looked outside, and now they're telling me it's fall."

Barton took a moment to reply, and when he did, his voice was quieter than it usually was. "You don't _have_ to remember everything, Gale. It's perfectly fine if you need to take your time. Nobody's going to push you on this."

I let out a breath, tracing my fingers over an imaginary pattern on my leg. "It's not... look, I stick by what I told Dr. Banner: there's no way in Helheim that I'm telling _anyone_ anything about my past that they don't already know. Apparently I told a handful of you about the Teneo's existence. That's bad enough as it is; I swore a _gwest-o dîn._ An oath of silence, to you."

"And... why bring that up?"

"Because for all the memories I can't recall... the ones I can are stronger." I didn't know if the old me would've told him, but I guess I wasn't her right now. "I remember my parents, and our house. Our dogs, the piano, the garden. I remember hot chocolate in the kitchen and doing tricks in front of the fire place. Every face I knew then, it's like it's being re-branded into my brain. But for the life of me... I can't remember any of this." I gestured out to the city.

There was a soft tap on my shoulder, and I looked down at Barton. "Kid," he started. "I'll admit, I don't have the faintest idea when it comes to what goes on in your head. But I will tell you that for three months, I've tried, and miserably failed. The only thing I do know for sure is that you've faced down nightmares and gone toe to toe with a god. People like that don't give up easy- they get what they work for."

I let his words sink in, staring out at the horizon. He didn't say anything else after that, and I didn't either. We just sat there, watching cars move along the streets and birds fly across the sky. It was nice, the first nice time that I had since I opened my eyes. 

"Hey," Barton spoke up after a few minutes had passed in pleasant silence. "Never got around to asking you this yet, what with Bruce freaking out after you woke up, and the whole amnesia thing, but..."

"Mm-hm?" I looked over to him. He was giving me an odd look, like he was almost uncertain of himself.

"Why do you treat me different than them?"

I cocked my head. "I don't understand."

"Well," he drew his knees up and rested his arms on top of them. "Bruce and Steve and Nat- Nat's visited, right?"

"The redhead with impeccable eyeliner. Fascinating and utterly terrifying."

"That's her. And even though Tony's been wrapped up with his business deal with some Russian dude, I'm pretty sure you'd treat him the exact way that you treated him when you first met him: sarcastic, prideful, stubborn, and overall-"

"- the way a teenager acts?" I finished with a slight smirk. "Your point is?"

"It's like a factory reset- you don't trust any of them, you don't particularly like any of them- so why don't you want my head on a spit?"

I raised my eyebrows. "I was that bad?"

Barton pointed to his left eyebrow, where the end of it was still growing back. "You did that. Several times."

I winced. "Oof."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. Two months ago, you would've laughed your head off and burned off the other eyebrow the next day. Now, you're less..." He studied me for a moment, searching for the words. "Hostile. I just wanted to know why, that's all."

I let out a small 'hmph' as I thought about that. "You..." I started, and saw Barton look up in surprise, as if he didn't expect me to answer. "You're... how do I say this? You're _athumo_."

"You know I don't speak that language, right?"

"I only used that word because there's no English equivalent. It means... not a friend, but someone nearby at time of need." I glanced at Barton out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't moved. "I lied to Dr. Banner, you know. I remember one thing- just one- from my time here. I... I remember falling asleep, and falling straight down into a nightmare. I remember being absolutely terrified. And... I remember you calming me down. You were _athumo_. You were there when I needed someone to be. Because of that... because I remember that... I know that I can afford a level of familiarity with you."

I hadn't actually made eye contact with Barton while I was speaking, and I didn't exactly want to now. Even though I barely knew how I acted around him, I knew that I couldn't have said something as much as _that_ before now.

There was a silent pause. I was actually nervous about how he'd react- after all, he was a stranger.

"It's called... _Erui... Erui_ what?"

I frowned, a bit thrown off by the question. " _Erui Lammen_."

"Right." He nodded. "And it's not just a bunch of words, it's a very old, very powerful language."

"Yeah." My eyes flickered in his direction. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you usually appreciate changes in topic when the conversation gets heavy," Barton replied smoothly. "You don't really talk about your feelings much."

I felt a smile tug at my lips, and heard a tiny chuckle from Barton's direction. "B, you know I've known you for three days, right?"

"And I've known you for three months." Barton shot back.

"Touché _._ "

"So we're _athumo_. That's the word."

"Mm-hm."

"What's the word for... what's my name?" Barton asked out of curiosity.

"I'm supposed to have amnesia, not you."

"In your language, stupid-head."

"It's... well, names don't translate unless they're purposefully supposed to mean something in _Ilúve-_ that's the formal name for _Erui Lammen_. The closest thing... you're an archer, aren't you? That's _cwingron_. Or I could split your last name: Bar-ton. But that would switch to _ton-bar_. And that means 'to knock on someone's home'. So everyone would think you're a guest to everything."

Barton let out a laugh. "Seriously? Okay, okay. What about... ooh, what about 'dagger'?"

" _Naika_. With a softer 'k'. And don't emphasize the 'a' at the end."

" _Naiqua_."

"You just told someone to start sinning."

" _Nai... naike_?"

"You wished someone great pain."

" _Naiquet?"_

"And... you just put a curse on an entire family."

"You're kidding me."

"Would you like to know the word for 'run for the hills'? Because the way you're headed, you're gonna need that one."

"Screw you, Gale."

"It's _lob-had i tunn_. And ' _rhach de, Gale_ '. Or you could use the word for gale: _hyriaith_."

Barton gave me a scowl. "You know what I meant."

"Come on," I giggled. "It's been a while since I've had a good laugh."

An odd look appeared on Barton's face for a moment. "Don't think I've ever seen you have one," he mumbled under his breath. Then the look was gone, and he was asking for another translation. "So 'Gale' is _hy... hiraeth_?"

"No, hiraeth is a Welsh word for a type of longing, a homesickness. This one is pronounced 'hee-ree-eye-th'. Sort of. The 'ee' sounds are shorter and lighter than the way that Americans pronounce them."

Barton's forehead was furrowed in concentration. "Okay, so it's... _hyri... hyriaith. Hyriaith._ "

I felt a grin come over my face. "Yeah," I said. "That's it."

"You know, this opens up so many new avenues," Barton continued, looking back out at the city. "I have a dozen new nicknames for you."

I groaned. "Oh God, no. It's bad enough that you call me 'kid'."

"I used to just have pipsqueak and featherweight, but now I've got another language under my belt." He tilted his head upwards with a thoughtful look. " _Hyriaith_. Hm... _hyri_? Hyri. That's it! Your new nickname is Hyri."

A sick feeling fell into my gut. I tried not to show it on my face. "Nah," I said lightheartedly. "Don't call me that."

Barton let out a laugh, oblivious to the fact that I'd gone even paler than normal. "Come on, it's great. Hyri. Rolls off the tongue easily."

"Barton, seriously-"

"Don't be like that, Hyri."

"Barton-"

"Hyri, come on-"

" _Stop!_ " I raised my voice, shocking both him and me.

The little clumps of gravel that Barton had formed were suddenly knocked over with a gust of wind that dissipated nearly as quickly as it had appeared.

The smile fell from Barton's face. "What- I said something, didn't I?"

I looked down at my hands, my pale, shaking hands. "Don't... don't call me that," I whispered. "Don't use that word."

"Why?" His voice was even but tense. "What... what does _hyri_ mean?"

_"I don't know if I can do what you expect of me. I'm afraid that I'll fail."_

_"Fear is always with us, Gale. You can't ever live without it."_

_"But... I can't live up to what they think I'll be."_

_"You're absolutely right."_

_"I thought you were supposed to believe in me."_

_"Oh, I do, Hyri. I do."_

_"Then why..."_

_"Because you won't live up to what they think you are. You, Hyri, are going to be more than they could ever dream for you. You will take their candle flame and make it a wildfire. You'll turn their rain water into a hurricane, their dust into a landslide. Gale, for every breath they give, you will make a storm."_

_"I..."_

_"Hyri, you will bring the world to its knees in awe. Now, go back out there and give them a taste of what you can be."_

_"...thank you."_

_"For you, Hyri? Anytime."_

"Gale?" Barton asked quietly. 

I turned my hands over, staring at my palms. If I thought about just enough, I could almost see the silver hagalaz in the creases and lines. "It's an old name," I finally spoke. "For an old person, in an old time."

He took a moment before nodding. "Alright. I'll stick to featherweight."

I didn't react to his comment, just returned my gaze to the city. "I think it's time to head in."

"If that's what you want, then okay." Barton stood up, dusted off his jeans, and sighed. "Sure is pretty though, way up here."

_Yeah_ , I nearly agreed. _I want to reach up, to trace my fingers along the edges of clouds and play with birds in the drafts and thermals. I want to feel the ebb and flow of the wind, pushing and pulling at my body. I want to let my weight take hold of me, I want to fall to the earth and soar up at the last second, because gravity can only touch me when I say it can._

Mostly, I wanted to say _, I want to fly free. I just want to **fly** again._

Instead, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and said, "Let's go."

That night, I didn't regret falling asleep. Why would I? I couldn't think of a reason to stay awake.

Well, that wasn't true, even though I didn't know it at the time.

I just couldn't _remember_.

I didn't remember that I'd had nightmares recently. I didn't remember that the specific ones I'd had- the lake, the forest, the fire and the false death of my parents- they were _gail-fech_. Bad omens. And honestly, it was fitting that my name sounded like one of the words.

_Gail._ Gale. _Hyri_.

Omen. Strong wind. And...

" _Hyri."_

A nickname that Barton wasn't the first to use. The last time I heard that word, I...

They were right about one thing. 

For every breath I was given, I made a storm.

But I didn't dream of storms. Not yet. There was still the rest of the cycle to go through. The nightmares didn't stop at the lake, or the forest, or the imaginary deaths of my parents. No, they didn't stop there.

Shame I didn't remember that. That I didn't remember that not all nightmares turn you fearful, that I didn't remember sometimes the worst ones imaginable... are the dreams that never came to pass.

_Dancing._

_I was dancing, and the person I was dancing with knew what they were doing, as did I. I wasn't looking at them, though. I was staring around the room at the other people. Thought I didn't see any young children, I spotted a few ones who were barely past eighteen- far younger than myself._

_Spinning in a circle, I felt my dress billow out around me, a cloud of ink suspended in water. It was like a wink of a void, staring at me, surrounded by the pale marble floor._

_"You know, it's not a funeral." My dance partner said, voice light. "Of all the things to wear, you chose black?"_

_"It's not an awful color," I found myself replying. "It's just... misinterpreted."_

_"Like you?"_

_I grinned. "Exactly."_

_The music was quick paced, and we crossed the ballroom floor in a whirl of black fabric and golden light. Couples all around us dancing in step, young and old, married and hopeful. I turned my head to watch them again, to drink in their faces and voices._

_My partner let loose a chuckle, one that rumbled deep in their chest. "I do fear that if I don't sweep you off your feet-"_

_All of a sudden, they spun and dipped me low to the ground. My heart raced as my breath caught up, and I stared up at my partner's eyes._

_"-you'll find someone far more interesting," they finished with a grin._

_"I find that improbable," I replied as we straightened up and continued dancing._

_They feigned hurt. "Not impossible?"_

_"Nothing's impossible," I laughed. "It's the thought that impossibility is reality that gets in your way."_

_The music began to slow, and while some dancers left the floor and congregated with friends near the edges of the room, others- included us- let our pace wind down but kept our feet moving._

_"Gale," my partner started, with an odd but affectionate voice. "I do believe that you, without a shadow of doubt, are the most spectacular person I'll ever meet."_

_I smiled up at them. "Did my parents tell you to use that line?"_

_The corner of their mouth curled. "Maybe. Your mother suggested I come prepared with conversation pieces. Your father suggested I keep my distance unless I prefer a grave in lieu of my bed."_

_"They said that?" I raised my eyebrows. "My father threatened you?"_

_"Oh, yes," they said with the utmost sincerity. "All the same, your mother frightens me more."_

_"She does, does she?"_

_"Gale, maimelion_ _, both of your parents sit at the council. Why wouldn't I be scared?"_

_"And rightly so." My father's clear voice broke into our conversation. He was dancing with my mother- him in dark grey and ivory, her in scarlet and gold. They both looked happy- Mama was smiling, and Papa's eyes were crinkled at the corners. "I hope you're not getting too ahead of yourself." Papa gave my partner a stern look._

_"No sir," they replied quickly. "I'm just enjoying my time with Gale as much as I can."_

_"Mm-hm," Papa hummed dubiously. Mama swatted his shoulder with a disapproving glare._

_"Ruslan!" She admonished him. "The night is young, and so are they. Leave them alone."_

_Papa's gaze immediately softened as he looked down at Mama- like it did every time he saw her. "Anything for you, dearest." He pressed a kiss to the side of her head; she didn't seem to care that it rumpled her hair._

_"But Gale," Mama continued, all four of us still swaying to the music. "How are you doing with your studies? All's well, I hope."_

_I gave her a look. "I'm not a child anymore, Mama."_

_"Yet you still call me that."_

_My partner chuckled. "I see where you got your wit from, hyriaith."_

_Papa raised an eyebrow, still rocking back and forth with the music. "Oh, so we're using nicknames, are we?"_

_I felt a light blush sprinkle my cheeks. "Papa-"_

_"I would never even dream of dishonoring your daughter," my partner interjected smoothly. "As long as there is breath in my lungs and dreams in my head, I shall constantly attempt the unattainable: to be worthy of her."_

_There was a glint in my parents' eyes that I didn't see too often, not when it came to other people. "Smart answer," Mama eventually praised. "And you've known Gale for... what is it, Ruslan?"_

_"Three weeks." Papa nodded at my partner. "So I take it your friendship will... progress?"_

_"Papa!" I cut across him quickly. "Let's just enjoy the night, please? Can I have a single moment in public where my parents do not embarrass me?"_

_Mama sucked in a breath and placed a hand on her chest, seeming very hurt. "Gale... my own child... turned against me. Oh, woe is me!"_

_"Come, Katerina." Papa drew Mama closer to him, giving me a mock look of insult. "We are not wanted here. Let's away!"_

_He spun around quickly, pulling Mama with him. She let out a bright peal of laughter, swirling away with Papa's deep chuckles. They vanished into motions of other dancers, there and gone in the blink of an eye, but their colors and voices left trails behind in the air._

_"Well," my partner said with a light voice, facing back to me. "That was..."_

_"Terrifying?" I suggested._

_They grinned. "I was going to say interesting, but that works too."_

_"I apologize for anything my parents have said, say, or will say." I shook my head. "They're..."_

_"Terrifying?"_

_I laughed, the clear sound ringing out. My partner smiled, a genuine expression that made something in me smile back. "My God," I said. "This is one of the better nights I've had in a long time."_

_"Oh dear," they said in a dry tone. "I should remedy that."_

_They picked me up by the waist and spun me around the air, and by the time my heart caught back up to me I was back on the floor, swaying to the music. "Why would it need a remedy?" I asked, a happy feeling achingly present in my chest ._

_"Because," they said softly. "It should be the best."_

_Usually, I would've fired back another witty retort. But something in me said to enjoy this moment, enjoy the simple knowledge that someone wanted to share their night with me._

_A slight frown appeared on their face. "You look dazed. Are you alright? Should we stop?"_

_I shook my head lightly. "No," I told them. "Everything's perfect. Let's keep dancing."_

_"As you wish," they replied, and then we lapsed into a silence that the music filled._

_The melodies drifted like breezes in the boughs of trees, far below the golden lights and high above the spinning dancers clad in every hue under the sky. The room was a masterpiece of shape and sound and color- all except for me, in my rippling black dress, silent, a whirling shadow come to life._

_"Just so that you may have a memory of it spoken aloud, and not merely a thought," my partner murmured. "I would have you know that for all this life in the world, you are among the worthiest that possess it."_

_"As are we all," I whispered back._

_Their hands were light on my skin, a gentle presence that made me want to stay right there as long as I could. "I would be lying if I said I never desired gold, or riches, or sunlight," they continued softly. "But for all the times I remember wanting those, none compare to you._

_"You are shade when the sun strikes too hard. You are grey when the colors turn too bright. You are rest at the end of a long day, the drink of cool water in the heat._

_"You build monuments while others build walls. You make music while others make war, and when you make war, the others make peace. You grow wings while others grow old._

_"You are the wind that wicks away sweat and tears. You are the breeze that makes the leaves ripple above our heads. You are moonlight that is brighter than they expect, reflecting off the pavement. You are the stars that others guide themselves by in the night. You are the first rainstorm after the dry spell, and the first thunderstorm after the peace._

_"You are infinitely beautiful and beautifully infinite, and you will live until the sun collapses and the stars grow too numerous to count. You will live on after the cities fall and the empires crumble. You will outlast life and outlive time._

_"And how lucky I am, that I may see one glimpse of you in all this world you leave in awe."_


	35. From grace

Author's Note: God, how do I break this to you guys...

(Don't worry. The story isn't ending.)

It's just... 

The person at the end of the last chapter, Gale's dance partner- the one that a lot of people have fallen in love with and already ship with Gale- yes, that one. They're not... how do I put this...

Real.

I think a bit of clarification is needed on the dream bit. See, the whole 'most terrifying nightmares aren't the dreams that did pass, it's the ones that never did' is a really fancy way of saying that Gale's _other_ nightmares were real things that happened. She actually fell into a lake, she actually got lost in a forest, and her parents did die (though not in the way that she saw, because spoilers :) ). But this dream was pure fiction. She never went to a dance and had one of the best nights of her life (I think I stated in the beginning that there were people of most ages at the dance, but 'some were no older than eighteen- far younger than myself').

That whole dream was a possible future of Gale's. It was what _might've_ happened if her parents never died, if she never fled her home.

Sorry about crushing your shipper hearts and dreams. Please don't kill me for it.

"Choose your next words _very_ carefully."

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

"Watch it."

"No, watch _this_. E-five."

Barton let out a groan, throwing his head back. "Aw, come on!"

"Yes!" I pumped my fist, making the bed jostle around. "I win!"

He pointed a finger at me. "Cheater."

"Nope!" I laughed outright at his gloomy expression.

"You- you used the wind!"

"B, you know it doesn't work like that. You lost, fair and square."

"Nobody wins _that_ many games of Battleship in a row."

"Fight me."

Barton gave me an exasperated look. "I'm not gonna fight you, Gale. You can't even get out of bed-"

I held up a hand to stop him. "I _can._ Watch me."

Before I could make a move, Barton swiftly picked up a pillow from the ground and chucked it at my face. It hit me square in the nose, knocking me back. "You're not _allowed_ to get out of bed," Barton corrected himself with a grin. "Besides, with reflexes like that-" 

The second I got myself upright, I sent a blast of cold air straight for his head. Barton yelped and covered his face. "Seriously? Now my eyeballs are gonna be all dry and itchy!"

"Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you initiated war," I told him as he rubbed his eyes.

"Maybe you should have your air conditioning priviledges revoked," he fired back.

I laughed again, but leaned back against the nest of pillows. Barton, who was sittin cross legged at the end of the bed, started putting away the game- grumbling all the while about stupid teenagers who thought they ran the world.

"So," I began. "What's on the agenda for today? Games, movies, sneaking coffee up here under Dr. Banner's nose?"

Barton grinned as he put the game on the floor beside his feet. "How about all of the above?"

"Or..." I tilted my head. "SHIELD."

He froze- just for a moment, but it happened. He looked up at me, like he was unsure of what I just said. "Uh-"

"It's been a _week_. I'm getting tired of Romanoff and Rogers and Dr. Banner telling me that I can't leave this room- unless it's up to the roof with you- because 'SHIELD'. That's literally all they say: SHIELD. No prepositions, just that. Awful grammar, really." I scrunched up my nose as I thought about it.

Barton sighed. "Look, kid, I'm not sure I should-"

"Tell me the truth?" I raised an eyebrow. 

"Don't put it like that-"

"Then how should I put it?" I shook my head, letting the irritation fade a bit before continuing. "B, I know you've been avoiding the subject at all costs. But the longer I'm here, the more I'm aware that I don't actually know _why_ I'm here."

Barton spent a good minute just staring at the wall, lost in thought. I fiddled with the hem of the blanket over my legs, not wanting to make him hurry the words. But the seconds ticked by, and I eventually wondered if he'd fallen asleep or something.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

My head jerked up at the sound. Barton wasn't looking at me; his eyes were still locked on the wall, but he didn't sound like his mind was somewhere else.

"That's what SHIELD stands for." He nodded to himself. "That's what I signed up for. To make sure that the people who were out to hurt innocents paid for what they did. To make sure that nobody held cruelty and power in the same hand."

Barton let out a heavy breath, leaning back on his hands. "See, I'm not the boss. I go where I'm told to go, I do what I'm told to do, but I'm not exactly known for following orders. Because if I don't feel like the call being made is the right one, I'm not gonna string along blindly."

"So... what does this have to do with me?"

"Gale, you're... nothing SHIELD has ever seen before." B shook his head slightly. "We got the call about you, and it left us scratching our heads. I've dealt with enhanced people before, I've seen- jeez, some _weird_ things. But at the beginning, all any of us knew about you was that you could fly, and that you could stop other people from falling."

I frowned. "Like how?"

"You stopped a boy from hitting the ground after he fell from a tree." Barton thought about it for a moment. "Saved his life, in fact."

I felt a tiny smile come over my face. "I did?"

B nodded. "Yup. That's how we found you, actually."

"So you guys... I dunno... asked me over for coffee? Showed me a couple of brochures?" I joked. "Whatever it was, it couldn't have been _that_ bad, right? Afterall, I'd have to actually agree to come here in the first place."

Barton glanced back at me for the first time since he started talking about SHIELD. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but the look in his eyes... it was just... unreadable. Cautious, maybe. Hiding something beneath it. 

The smile fell from my face as the seconds passed without a response. "Right?" I asked again, worry creeping into my mind. "Right, B?"

"Right."

Barton sounded almost distant, like the word had come from somewhere else than him.

That uncertain feeling in my gut hadn't left yet. "But I... I sort-of remembered a woman shouting at me. She was telling me to drop to the ground. Didn't sound friendly."

"Hill." Barton said, his face devoid of any discernable meaning. "She didn't mean to hurt you. There was a misunderstanding. We didn't know if you'd be... hostile."

A little chuckle escaped me. "Wait- hostile? But you knew I saved that boy. Why would you think I'd be _hostile_?"

He shook his head. "We couldn't know for certain. We had to prepare for every outcome." Barton rubbed his hands together- a nervous gesture, really, but I didn't see why. "Our team approached you, and told you who we represented. It took some talking, but eventually you took the offer and we moved you here. SHIELD's keeping you here because- well, you can heal here or at an offshore facility, and those places tend to stock up on potatoes and not much else."

"Ew, potatoes." I made a face. "But you're... you're sure? I really just up and went with a bunch of strangers?"

Barton shrugged. "We got you three meals a day, a room to yourself, and free showers. Plus all the crazy junk that Tony's got in this tower."

"Huh." I sat back with a _oomph_. "Well..."

He glanced at me, looking a little unsure. "Well... what?"

"Nothing, just-" I broke off with a confused grin. "I thought that there'd be some big secret or something. I... I dunno. I just feel like I would've given you a fight. But hey- maybe I've changed in the past year."

I could practically see the tension lift off Barton's shoulders at that. He smiled at me- an actual smile, even though it wasn't exactly ear-to-ear. "That's the deal," he said. 

"I must be... happy here," I thought out loud. Happy. the word was strange in my head. Maybe it was just the amnesia thing, but- no, I was over thinking this.

"Yeah." It almost sounded... forced. But why would it? Barton didn't seem like the kind to lie to me.

An awkward pause ensued where both of us found meaningless things to do: Barton stared up at the ceiling, I counted the squares in my quilt.

"Agent Barton, the others have gathered for lunch in the main room." JARVIS's voice issued from the hidden speakers.

Barton stood up and stretched his arms above his head. "Alright. Tell 'em I'll be there in a minute."

"Certainly."

I gave Barton a little wave, feeling a little dejected that he was leaving so soon. "Have fun. Bring back some coffee."

But he paused at the door, and looked back at me. "Hey, Gale, what do you say to having pizza?"

"Pizza? Sure. But I don't see-" I cut myself off. "Wait a second."

Barton grinned, and crouched down next to the bed. "Come on. Piggy-back ride. I promise not to accidentally bump you into a door frame."

"Seriously?" I asked, but I was already clambering over and looping my arms over his shoulders. "Doesn't SHIELD want me tucked away in this room for eternity?"

"What they don't know won't hurt them." Barton stood up, and I immediately tightened my grip as I lurched into the air.

"Don't let me fall!"

"Jesus, let me breath-" He complained. I rolled my eyes but obliged. "It's only a couple floors down, you don't need to choke me."

"Shut up and go." I got one hand free and flicked the back of his head. "Onward, noble servant."

"Noble?" Barton grinned as he walked down the hallway. "That's a first. You can start addressing me as 'Your Highness'."

"Keep moving, Farquaad."

When we reached the main room, I heard the buzz of conversation coming from the cluster of couches. As we neared it, I peered around Barton's head and saw the other inhabitants of the tower sitting with pizza boxes on a table between them. I counted four- Dr. Banner, Rogers, Romanoff, and another man I was acquainted with yet.

The last man, with dark hair and a goatee, looked up at us. "Hey, Clint, nice to see you _finally_ showing up to our official Avengers meetings."

Barton laughed. "Tony, you wouldn't know official if it hit you in the -"

But- _wait a sec_ _, it was actually him_ \- Tony Stark let out a loud gasp and pointed at my head, where it stuck over Barton's shoulder.

"Gah!" He cried out. "She's mobile!"

I glared at him. Barton headed to an open space and crouched down so I could get off, and I adjusted myself on the couch until I was comfy. "Seriously?" I grumbled. "That's how our first conversation is gonna go?"

"First?" Stark frowned, and then realization dawned on his face. "Right. You don't remember me."

I gave him a slow clap. "Wow," I said, deadpan. "Your grasp of amnesia astounds me."

Stark, unfazed, raised a slice of pizza in my direction. "You were right, Bruce, she really _hasn't_ changed a bit. Still got the snark and everything. I wonder if she remembers how over-confident she is."

I snorted. "Says the man who let a pack-"

"-of Chitauri slip into Brooklyn during the Battle of New York," everyone finished in unison, much to my surprise. They sounded like they'd heard it before.

I stared at them. "Uh... I take it that I told you."

Barton nodded wearily. "Many, _many_ times."

I shrugged and grabbed a piece of pizza. Meanwhile, Dr. Banner was looking at me- and it was starting to get creepy. "What?" I asked him, mouth full. 

Dr. Banner jolted, like he'd been thinking deeply beforehand. "Huh- oh, nothing-" He tripped over the words a bit. "I- I just thought that maybe you were remembering something."

"Isn't that impossible?" Rogers spoke up, sounding confused. "She's got amnesia."

"Right, right," Romanoff added, looking over her shoulder at the blond man. "But memories can come back, if it's not permanent."

Dr. Banner leaned forward, resting his arms on the tops of his legs. "Natasha's entirely correct. For starters," he gestured to me, "we don't know how different Gale's biology is from ours. Whatever component allows her to manipulate the wind could alter the way she moves, breathes, thinks- how she lives. Because we don't know how her people differ from ours, we don't know how to treat her _specifically_. From our point of view, Gale definitely is having memory issues: permanent or otherwise. What matters is if she's going to regain them, and if so, then what triggers will there be and how quickly will she uncover them."

"Wow." I nodded. "That was... lengthy."

Then Stark suddenly joined in, with a calculating gleam in his eyes. "What if you didn't have to guess about her biology?"

"Tony," Romanoff said with a hint of a warning.

But he just dismissed it, focused on Dr. Banner. "Bruce, what if we knew what made her different?"

I let out an incredulous laugh. "Sorry- _what_?"

Stark finally looked over to me. "Back in Asgard, you kinda dropped the 'Teneo' bomb."

"Apparently so." I glared at him. "Careful how you speak."

" _And_ ," he continued, unruffled by my tone. "We know that your people got their powers by Asgardian magic. Ergo, any alterations to your body are going to resemble Asgardian features, if anything. So all we need to do is run a few numbers, maybe get a CAT scan, then run some tests-"

I couldn't believe it. " _Tests_?"

Barton frowned, looking no more pleased than I was. "Yeah, I don't think so."

Stark held his hands up. "I'm not saying that's our only option!" He defended. "I'm just saying that it _is_ one."

"Alright, let's just slow down a minute," Rogers suggested. "Tony, nobody's going to run tests on anyone without their permission, and Gale-" He gave me one of those looks that was supposed to make me feel at ease. Plot twist! It didn't. "Nobody's going to make you do anything you don't want to."

There was a heavy moment of silence where everyone in the room turned to give Stark a look. He shrugged, stood up, and casually smoothed out his clothes. "Okay," he said simply. "We can try out some of the other options. Romanoff, you wanna give me a hand?"

The red-head's expression was as innocent as it comes, which instantly set me on edge. "Sure," she replied evenly.

In the span of a heartbeat, Romanoff turned to Barton and grabbed something from his back pocket. She tossed it to Stark, who shoved it in my face before I could even blink. The tip of the object whirred to life, throwing crackling sparks all around it.

"AH!" I yelled. All of my muscles suddenly seized up and I pushed myself way back into the couch. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF-"

Stark let out a pleased 'hm'. "Hey, whadda you know? She remembers these."

"WHAT IS THAT THING?!"

"See, Bruce?" He turned to the doctor. "No tests. Just... certain triggers."

I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Stark, who dodged it. In retaliation, he tossed the sparking thing onto the couch- two feet from where I was panicking.

"YOU BETTER STOP!" I pressed myself into the corner, trying to get as far away from the thing as possible. "STOP!"

I didn't even know what it was. What I did know was _I did not like it one bit_. It made me feel- God, I don't know, like I was helpless against it. My skin was crawling just _thinking_ about it. Every inch of me was screaming _no no no nonononono get this god da-_

Romanoff finally took pity on me and gave the sparking thing back to Barton, who was obviously torn between feeling bad for me and grinning. Well screw you too, B.

"What. Was. _That_." I breathed heavily, glaring at all parties involved.

Romanoff smirked. "Electric arrow. Clint always keeps a couple within reaching distance."

"Okay," I frowned, trying to figure it all out while avoiding a heart attack. "So why did I-"

"Freak out like a baby and scream repeatedly?" Stark offered. Dr. Banner nudged him in the side to shut him up.

Rogers sighed, drawing my attention back to him. "Long story short, Clint likes... surprising you."

"By electrocuting me?" I raised an eyebrow.

Barton was looking more uncomfortable with every passing moment. "Look, I'm pretty sure Gale doesn't need-"

"And how, exactly, would you know what I do and do not need?" I said, a bit of annoyance seeping into my voice. Barton looked more taken aback than anything.

Nobody replied to that. I saw the adults give each other sideways looks, volleying silent messages back and forth. After a a bit, Dr. Banner awkwardly cleared his throat. "Uh, Gale..."

I waved a hand, fed up with the whole 'oh, she won't realize we're talking about her' deal. "I get it. Whenever I'm snappy or rude, you all start that silent courtroom of yours. It's not too hard to figure out why." I gave them a wry smile. "That's obviously what the old me was like. And now you're wondering how quickly she's gonna catch up to you."

Dr. Banner sighed. "You're... not wrong. But I was actually going to ask you if- with all this interaction- you're feeling worn out. Like-"

"The world's moving right through me?" I finished. "Yeah, that hasn't changed. I still feel... as if the wind's going to carry me away..." I trailed off, glancing down at my hands.

_Silver and iron,_

All it took was a nudge- a thought of a thought- and I watched silver lines trace the hagalaz on each palm. The color gleamed in the light, and I let my hands slide from side to side to catch the marks in the glow. The heat was ebbing from my skin; I felt my bones shiver in their places, trickles of wind coming from inside them and flowing through my blood like molten mercury.

_There's metal in you._

"Gale?" Someone asked softly. I looked up, and the moment my eyes left the silver, I snapped back to the here and now. 

Rogers was focused on me. He was leaning slightly towards me with the beginnings of a frown on his forehead. With a slight jolt, I realized he was still waiting for a reply.

I shook my head to clear my- _metal and wind_ \- thoughts. "Yeah?"

"You drifted off for a moment," Rogers told me, his voice still gentle. "Are you alright?"

I would've rolled my eyes if I had the energy to. Instead, I just felt like all the energy in my body had sunk into the floor. "Uh-huh. I'm just... a little tired. I'm fine, though, I swear."

_Ash and iron, silver and grey, threads in the wind as you fall away_

"Okay, that's enough for you." Dr. Banner stood up from his seat. "Someone give us a hand, please?"

Despite my numerous protests, I was taken back to my room.

(It wasn't my favorite experience. I threatened them with a southern wind, but apparently electric arrows and Barton were like Donald Trump and xenophobia- couldn't have one without the other creeping up behind)

After Dr. Banner was satisfied with my current state, he made a goodbye and an exit. I was just sitting in bed with the blankets pulled up to my waist, picking at the threads in the hem. It took me a moment to realize it, but I wasn't alone.

Rogers was leaning against the door frame, staring at the ground with his arms crossed. He was quiet, but he looked like somethin was on his mind.

"Uh, creepy." I said out loud. Rogers looked up with a little 'hm?' at the sound. "Are you gonna hover in the door like that all day or do you wanna take a seat and tell me what's pinging around in that head?"

Rogers half-grinned at that, and moved to the folding chair beside my bed that Barton usually occupied. He rubbed his hands together, still deep in thought.

"Out with it," I prompted him. Noticing his attire- jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, I frowned. "Where's your Star Spangled Spandex?"

He raised his eyebrows at that. "You mean my uniform?"

"Potato, potahto." I made a face. "Ugh. I don't think I like potatoes. Or potahtoes. Potatoos? Po-ta-toes?" I shook my head. "Yup, I don't like any of them."

Rogers chuckled. "Yeah, I definitely recall that."

"So," I started again. "Why are you hanging around here? I can't be _that_ interesting."

"No, it's- not that you're boring- I mean-" He sighed, and tried one more time. "I just wanted to have a chance to talk with you. It's been kinda hectic lately, what with Asgard and everything- and Bruce doesn't like people coming up here often anyways. He says you need time to heal, to get your strength back."

"Strength back?" I repeated with a little laugh. "Rogers, my body may be stretched thin at the moment, but I'm feeling as close to my legacy as I can get. However long I was in Asgard, it must've done me good. Here on Midgard, I can..." I let out a grin. "It's like every inch of me, inside and out, is perfectly in tune with the wind. I mean, just look-"

With a lazy flick of my fingers, I sent every scrap of air in the room into view.

Streams of gentle grey were winding around the edges of the room. Threads of silver were snaking their way all across, passing each other and crossing between me and Rogers. Flickers of ash and iron specked them- a mirage of grey, ebbing and flowing with the easy heartbeat of the wind.

Rogers' eyes were wide as he took it all in. His mouth was hanging open ever so slightly. The sight brought a smile to my lips.

"That took less than a push to get going," I told the soldier. Closing my fist, I released the winds and returned the room to normal- but hints of silver were teasing at my arms. "Think about what I can once I get on my feet."

The wonder was gone from his eyes. "I am," he exhaled under his breath.

"Excuse me?" I caught onto him straight away- not too happy about his comment. "If there's something you need to say to me, then say it. I don't like the whole 'beating around the bush' thing."

Rogers tilted his head back, looking at the ceiling. "Gale, I'm not trying to pick a fight with you."

"Then don't make underhanded remarks about me going nuts and killing everyone."

"I never said that!"

"You implied it," I said firmly. "And that speaks the truth more often than words."

He frowned at me, and I could tell he was reaching the end of his patience. "Gale, you're a fighter. Not just that, but-" The frustration in his posture began to unravel as he continued. "You don't remember this, but in Asgard, we had a little conversation about you and orders."

I laughed sharply. "What, like how I don't follow them?"

"No," he interrupted, "you do. But only when they're phrased that way. As an order. A _command_." Rogers locked eyes with me, and I finally understood the emotion in them: empathy. "You were trained as a soldier. And I know better than anyone that a soldier at full strength without purpose is dangerous."

His words hit close to home. I tried not to let it show, but I felt my breath hitch in my throat. I couldn't have told them about- there's no way he knew that-

"I don't know who treated you like an adult when you were a child," Rogers said softly, and the tension in my gut eased ever so slightly. "But I'll tell you something I didn't get the chance to in Asgard: being a soldier means you don't fit right in to this." He gestured around the room. "To civilian life. It means when you come back from the fight... you don't necessarily come back the same."

I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eyes. For a good length, I tried to keep my hands from quivering by clenching the blanket tight. "And," I said quietly, a rasp in my voice. "How does that apply to me?"

Rogers didn't move, but when he spoke, his voice seemed to fill up the space in a passive kind of power.

"Soldier to soldier... " The tiniest of sad smiles tugged at his lips. "It can be hard, returning to people who have this memory of you that's different from the person in the mirror. Sometimes they don't understand why you never let your guard down, why you can't trust new faces like you used to."

Rogers reached out and lightly patted the bed mattress. "It's okay if you need time away from us. Doesn't matter if you wear what the fighting did on your sleeve, or if you try to pass for what you used to be- you should know that you don't have to prove anything. Not to them. Not after what you've done and had done to you."

He started to leave, and he was halfway out the door when- to both our surprise- I stopped him. "Rogers..."

The man looked back, and I realized that he didn't look at me like the others. Like he was trying to see someone else in this bed, with someone else's mind and voice and breath instead of mine. Instead of seeing _me_.

"Soldier to soldier," I began haltingly. I didn't even know where I was going with this, much less what words to say. But I sufficed with the simplest expression I found. "Thank you." _For talking to me, and not the person you think I am._

Rogers gave me a smile, a genuine smile, and vanished into the hall. 

With no one else in sight, I settled back into the pillows. Even though it was quiet in the room, save for the hum of machinery and electronics in the walls, I could hear Rogers' words coming back to me.

And... it was good to know that there was another person who got it. Now that I thought about it, I don't think anyone's ever told me that. Not in my entire life. Not even when I was in the thick of fighting.

No one told me how being alone and being lonely were only three letters apart. No one told me that it was okay to feel misplaced, that I was valid even when I came back changed.

No one told me I wasn't sick, when I felt like vomiting until there was only air.

No one told me it was alright to not to call a house my home when it wasn't anymore.

No one told me.

How could they?

Everyone who would've held me, and comforted me, and loved me was gone.

Everyone who _cared_ was-

_"Dead."_

_The whispers reached my ears, even though I was sure their owners meant otherwise. Afterall, when an eight year-old is sitting in the waiting room of the Council's Keep by themselves... you never mean for them to hear much. Especially not when their parents are nowhere to be seen._

_I didn't need to see their faces to know they were looking at me. All of them, the higher ranking members and whoever happened to be there when Alexei burst through the doors, they were waiting for him and the Council to be done. But for now, I was seated on an armchair in the corner, and all the bystanders could do was talk. And talk. And talk._

_"Poor thing," a man murmured. "What's to become of her?"_

_The woman beside him- I could tell by her shoes- turned towards the man in an effort to hide their muted conversation. Not that they thought I could hear them._

_"Her uncle will take custody, most likely." She answered. "But she'll be so alone..."_

_Alexei._

_-he was shaking when he held me-_

_"I heard Michael telling his cohort... she witnessed the whole thing."_

_"Good lord. You're sure?"_

_"She was in the house- of course she saw it."_

_"But- I just can't understand how it happened."_

_Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman shake her head. She reached up to brush a stray curl of hair behind her ear- and for a second, the markings on her forearms were visible: strokes of black ink running to her wrist, twisting at the very end to form a ring around her skin. In the stylized waves, I caught the semi-concealed word ᛋᚢᚾᛞᚨᚾᚲᛖᚱ._

_Sundancer._

_My mind automatically ran the name through what knowledge I possessed.. A defensive echelon. Preferring those in the fire circle. But this woman's markings, specifically the waves at the end, said her legacy was water. Rare, for her gifts to be in that echelon._

_"You think I have any reasoning behind it myself?" The Sundancer asked the other man. "I... Ruslan and Katerina were some of the most powerful people I know. I don't understand why they didn't defend themselves."_

_He sighed, and both of them seemed to bend under the sound. The impact of what they were saying had finally caught up to them. "I..." he started and faltered. "They... they were such wonderful people. I can't even comprehend why someone would want to-"_

_The man made an odd sound, like he was trying to hold back tears. The woman silently put a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever we're feeling right now..."_

_I watched their feet turn back to me._

_"I can't imagine what she's going through."_

_On the left side of the room, the large set of double doors swung open without a sound. Every single person fell dead silent as they turned to watch._

_One figure rushed out of the adjoining room, a blur of silver hair and dark clothes. He cut through those who were standing straight to me- Alexei._

_Without a word, he kneeled in front of the chair and wrapped his arms around me. Alexei didn't say anything; he just didn't let go. I didn't make a move to return the gesture- but I leaned into him, and finally closed my eyes._

_The remaining Councilwomen and men filed into the room. The bystanders parted for them, giving way until there was a great open space in the middle. There, the Council stood._

_For the first time, I raised my head, and looked up at the room._

_Their faces were pale from the story or flushed from the cold outside. Fear, confusion, shock, grief, exhaustion- they all were splayed out for everyone to see. Hems of shirts were wrinkled from being wrung too many times, and hands were shaking. There wasn't a single person untouched by the news._

_One of the Councilwomen cleared her throat to gather attention, as if she didn't already have it. Every face turned to hers, save for Alexei, who refused to let me go._

_"By now you all have heard the rumors," she began. I would've said she was collected, but a tremor in her voice betrayed the notion. "And... they are true. Ruslan and Katerina are dead."_

_Someone in the corner stifled a sob. The Councilwoman looked as if she wished to join them._

_"However-" she swallowed, sounding unsteadier by the second. "I- The Council requires, as our rules dictate, more evidence to the suggestion of..." She broke off, eyes glistening._

_The man next to her picked up where she left off. "What Sasha- Councilwomen Orlov is saying... is that the death of Ruslan and Katerina might have been..." He shook his head. "No matter the circumstances, now is not the time_ _to lightly discuss such things. You are permitted to tell your cohorts and families of what's come to pass, but make no mistake."_

_His eyes swept the room, catching each and every person's gaze. "This is a tragic happening. We expect you will be respectful to all those affected by it."_

_Immediately, their stares flickered to me and Alexei._

_"That will be all. Return to your homes."_

_They filtered out of the room. Afterall, it was early and cold, and no one wanted to spend the next few hours without the solace of their families. That is, if they still had them._

_My shoulder was wet. Alexei was crying._

_"Gale," someone called out softly._

_The Councilwoman was standing alone in the middle of the room. Her face was pale and drawn, but her eyes were a shocking blue- brought out by the shade of her coat._

_Alexei slowly drew his arms back, and stood to face the woman. "What do you want, Sasha?" His voice, it sounded like someone had reached inside and torn out everything. Hollow._

_"I can find you both a place to stay," she offered. "Until this passes."_

_"Passes?" Alexei stared coldly at her. "My brother and his wife are dead. Their child, my niece, is an orphan. This won't pass."_

_A break in her resolve- Sasha cut across him. "I lost them too, Alexei." Anger flashed in her voice, but it was gone in a heartbeat. "They were the best of us," she whispered. "We all are mourning them."_

_She took a step back, and swiftly made her way out of the room._

_Alexei took in a deep, shuddering breath, and pushed his hair out of his face. He looked down at me, with eyes a only a shade different than mine._

_"Gale-" He started, but his lungs heaved and he clapped a hand over his mouth. He was crying again._

_I slid off of the chair, and hugged him with all my eight year-old might. Alexei brought a shaking hand down on the top of my head as he tried to keep his sobs muffled. We were alone in the room._

_The Council spoke the truth._

_My parents were dead._

_There were rumors of suspicion, of foul play, of... murder. Rumors of locked doors and dark hours of the night, of glints of metal in the shadows and of broken trust when the killer's face came out. Rumors that Ruslan and Katerina knew who killed them, knew who left their child untouched.._

_The rumors were true._

_Every one of them._

_"Do you remember the poems?" Alexei murmured. "The ones they made up, just for you?"_

_Silence._

_He let out a short, grieving laugh. "I do. I remember all the words."_

_I didn't reply. I just held him, and he held me._

_"Ash and iron," Alexei began, forcing a lilt into the words. "Silver- and grey. Threads in the wind as you- as you fall away."_

_A shiver went through his body and his voice. "Lines in- the clouds, and... and curls in the sky. And there's grace for you... way up- high."_

_Alexei wasn't lying to me, all those years ago. There really was something in the sky for me, something graceful. He just didn't remember the catch about the sky, the same one that my parents forgot._

_It's a long fall from grace to the ground._


	36. (Your attention, please)

I'm truly sorry that I actually have to say this.

I never wanted my time online to come to this. In fact, I hoped that it wouldn't happen to any other writer. But here we are, and I've got something to say to all of you.

It's come to my attention that another story is in direct violation of the copyright terms of this website. I checked it out not ten minutes ago, and not only does this story mirror my plot to the last detail, it also copies my characters and even my dialogue. I never gave the author permission to use my ideas, nor was I given any notification that they planned to do so in the first place. It's only mere chance (and a truly wonderful reader who told me about this- _thank you_ , kind person) that I found out.

There's a certain degree of trust between a writer and a reader online. The writer bares their work to the world, willing to face those who hate it as well as those who don't, because in the end, _we love it_. We _love_ sharing these creations of pure imagination with you. There's nothing I would rather be doing in my free time than weaving worlds with only my words, and then making them accessible to you. Every time I read a comment about how a reader loves my writing, or it inspired them to write themselves, I get this wonderful feeling in my chest and a little giddy smile.

But there are always people who are going to break that trust.

I don't want to take my story down from here. I really, _really_ don't. And I'm not. I've reported the copied story, and I hope that this all will be resolved quickly, without much fuss. And I've decided that I'm not going to let one person who thinks they're entitled to another human being's work dictate who gets to enjoy it. I started writing for you, and I'm not quitting because of one person.

Please please please don't copy work. It's an awful feeling to see someone take credit for what you've done (group projects, am I right?). If you enjoy stories, then read them. If you want to write them, then do it. Just don't _steal_ them.

Like I said, I'm not taking May The Wind Be At Your Back down, as of this moment. Just be respectful and a decent human being, all right? We won't have a problem if you're okay with writing _your own stuff_. 

This applies to every story, not just mine. Copyright is a big issue with websites. If you see it, tell the author or report it. believe me, it doesn't make you a snitch. It makes you a good person. Don't hesitate to do the right thing.

That's it. I don't want to turn this into a huge rant. You guys don't deserve that. I want you readers, as readers, to enjoy someone's stories- whether they be mine or not.

(and if you come across another violation, _**please**_ bring it to my attention. I won't mention you by name- I'll keep your anonymity safe, I promise)

Guys, I want to trust you. Don't let me down.

Thank you for your time.


	37. The closer you get

Author's Note: Guys, I love all of you. You're shown your support for me in humongous amounts and I'm incomprehensibly happy because of it. From the bottom of my heart, **_thank you._**

Also, your wonderful comments will do nothing to stop the feels. _Nothing_. 

:)

By the time I was back on my feet, I still couldn't remember anything.

Besides the obvious, of course. I remembered in perfect clarity the reason why I left my home when I couldn't call it that anymore. I remembered why I didn't trust people, I remembered why I refused help, and most importantly: I remembered why I kept moving.

Barton said I chose to be here, in the Tower with the rest of them. He said I willingly set down my backpack and stayed. And if I'm being honest, that sounded... off. It just didn't seem like something I'd do. 

And I couldn't have really... changed- could I?

But in the end, I didn't exactly feel like my life was in danger. Sure, I got antsy being in the same room for a week. Who wouldn't? Look, all I knew was that for some reason, I was... marginally okay with all this.

_Konstantin would lecture me for being complacent_.

My heart skipped a beat at the intrusive thought. That was the problem with being alone. It gave you too much time to get lost in your head.

I shifted forward in my seat, resting my elbows on the kitchen table. The room was quiet; afterall, nobody else was up before six in the morning. Just me. Me and my trickle of consciousness.

Ever since I was given the green light to walk around by myself, I'd taken to vanishing off in places where I could be alone for an hour or two. With the commotion from waking up and discovering I had an entire life here I didn't remember, I seriously needed some me time. _Without_ anyone hovering over my shoulder.

_But you should be able to deal with distractions._

It wasn't a distraction, it was just-

_Complacency._

A shudder ran from the back of my neck all the way to my fingertips. The motion made my skin flutter against the tabletop, like a flickering heartbeat. Somehow it was more disturbing than these thoughts.

_You're used to feeling off, though._

I suppose, but-

_Can you even remember the last time you felt right? The last time you let your guard down?_

My palms were beginning to sweat despite the cold air. My eyes were fixated on the wood grain in front of me. I didn't understand why I was even thinking about _that_ ; maybe- hopefully- it was just a side effect from recovering.

_Or the way you were raised._

No. That couldn't possibly be it.

_To question yourself, to question every action, every breath, every thought. This is how you've survived for so long._

But I was safe. I knew that. There was no way that Rogers or Barton or any of them would ever hurt me.

_If you hadn't left your home so eagerly, maybe you'd never be feeling so wrong about your choices._

With a sudden _bang!_ , the doors on every cupboard were thrown open. The sound made me jump, and for a moment, all I could do was stare pale-faced at the empty room. Flashes of grey teased at the linings of the cabinets, threatening to pop into sight and send every loose object into chaos.

"Get a hold of yourself," I muttered, screwing my eyes shut. If I couldn't see it, maybe it would just fade before anything bad happened. "Don't lose control."

_What's there to lose?_

The thought slid back into my head, circling like a snake.

_Haven't you lost enough? What else is there to be taken from you? A room, a bed, a false sense of security? You know those things won't last. Sooner or later, your real nature will reveal itself._

This _is_ my real nature. I didn't need some rebellious notion to tell me I wasn't showing my true colors-

_Never said **that**. Afterall, grey's not a color. Not really._

_But you already know that, don't you?_

I knew better than to listen. But the words sent another chill prickling through my skin. Looking down at my hands, they were trembling. On my palms, I could almost imagine the silver hagalaz breathing into life- or was it more than just my imagination?

"Kid?"

At the sound of another voice, my hands twitched. A towel by the sink soared back and slapped sharply against the wall, sliding to the floor a moment later. I hadn't turned around; just sitting there, trying desperately not to make things worse- it sapped my energy more than anything.

"Hey- you... you alright?" Footsteps, moving closer. My spine stiffened as they neared me. My head wasn't- wasn't thinking straight- I couldn't move.

There was a light tap on my left shoulder- a nudge, really. "Kid, is something wrong? Why the theatrics?"

Stark.

He cast a glance back as he walked past me to the coffee machine. Busying himself with it, Stark stifled a yawn. "Did th' towel insult you? Give you the stink eye? 'Cause I'll have you know-" He bent down, picked the towel up, and set it on the counter with a pointed look in my direction. "These aren't easy to replace."

_Take a breath. In and out._ "What do you want?" I replied quietly, trying to force a bit of ease into my posture.

"For starters? Coffee. Next on the list is Netflix, but Pepper says I can't buy every company I want."

I sighed, not willing to get into another one of Stark's rambles. "Fine." Standing up, I headed for the door.

"Whoa whoa whoa." Stark called out. The joking manner was gone from his face, and now he looked as tired as I felt. "Coffee's gonna be ready in a couple minutes. Stick around. It's the good stuff."

_What else can you possibly lose?_

_Screw you_ , I thought, and sat back down. 

Stark leaned against the counter and yawned again, making me yawn. I glared at him. "Seriously, Stark. What are you doing here?"

"Working." He stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "Need caffeine to make it through the night."

"Yeah, or you could, I dunno, _sleep_ ," I suggested. With the distraction, a bit of energy was creeping back into me, making it easier to talk and not let on how unsettled I was.

The man snorted. "Like you're one to talk?"

I raised an eyebrow. "And that's supposed to mean...?"

"Kid," Stark laughed shortly, "you aren't exactly the poster kid for mental health."

The coffee machine beeped, and he broke off for a moment. Taking the pot out, Stark rummaged through the cabinets. If he thought anything of the fact half of them were hanging off the hinges, he didn't say it.

Stark moved to the table with a mug in each hand. He set down one in front of me, taking a seat directly across the table. I took a sip. The warmth of the coffee traced a path down my throat, offsetting the wind-chill that still lingered. I didn't like the heat, not at all; but right now it was barrier between me and my legacy, and that was as welcome a gift as any.

"Couldn't sleep?" Stark asked, wrapping his hands around his mug.

I shrugged, leaning slightly over the table. "Never been in the habit of sleeping a straight eight hours. Not a good idea when you're used to being on the move."

He hummed, dark eyes focused on a spot on the wall. "Haven't you ever wanted this before?"

A frown creased my forehead. "I don't understand. What do you mean, 'before'?"

"Before _this_." Stark gestured the kitchen, sitting back in his seat. "Before the Tower, before meeting all of us- the first time, not a couple of weeks ago. Didn't you ever... want a place to settle down in?"

I thought about for a minute. "Well... I suppose not. I mean, I never do anything by halves. If I make a decision, I'm going to sink with that ship or reach the other shore. When I started walking, I didn't look back." I shrugged again, a simple movement that made my shirt wrinkle and crease under my arm. "It just doesn't seem smart to choose something you'll regret. I'd rather make sure I won't than jump at every opportunity."

To my surprise, Stark nodded. "I can get that," he agreed. "Sometimes you gotta run before you walk."

I exhaled shortly in an almost-laugh. "Or fly."

Stark grinned at that. "Amen, kiddo." He raised his coffee at me. "Here's to flying before we crawl."

"I'll toast to that." I took a sip from my mug.

For a moment, the kitchen was silent. The lamp overhead was swaying ever so slightly, throwing a pleasant yellow-tinted light over the table. I could hear the refrigerator humming quietly in the corner, marking the seconds that ticked by.

Then Stark shifted on his chair, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. "So, Gale..." He started, throwing a second glance up at me. "This project that me 'n' Bruce are working on, it's something we're not exactly... used to doing."

"So," I tilted my head, "like... not electronic? I mean, like your suit and yada yada yada."

Stark nodded. "Yeah, it's actually more up Bruce's alley- I'm more into the mechanical stuff, he's the bio-engineer."

"That's a big word for a glorified doctor."

He raised his eyebrows. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'll bring up his 7 PhDs. _Again_."

"Seriously?" Jeez, didn't see that one coming. If Dr. Banner really had _7_ fancy shmancy PhDs, then he certainly didn't act like it. "Where'd he go to college?"

"Where _didn't_ he?" Stark snorted, rolling his eyes. "Bruce is..." He took his time coming up with the words, either hesitant or unsure of them. "He's a tough guy. Not just because he can cram entire encyclopedias into his skull, but 'cuz of the whole Jolly Green Giant."

I nodded slowly, recalling what I'd been told when I first woke up here. "Right. His... angry roommate."

"Mm-hm." Stark's eyes were on the table, deep in thought. The joking manner was gone from his tone, as was mine. "It's taken a while to get him comfortable in the Tower. In fact- did you know he wouldn't move in until we Hulk-proofed this place?" He rapped his knuckles sharply on the tabletop. "Bruce won't stay overnight _anywhere_. Not if it doesn't have a Hulk cage."

_A glass ring, white floors and ceiling, the promise of gassed if I misbehaved._

Stupid thoughts- though this one felt more tangible than the others. "Hulk cage?" I asked quietly.

"Yeah." Stark gulped down more of his coffee, eyes flickered up at me. "You stayed in one- earlier, in the Helicarrier, but I suppose you don't remember. They're big, glass, capable of holding any super-strong rage monster."

I held up a finger, stopping him in his tracks. "Wait a sec- _I_ was in one?" An unsettled feeling was suddenly present in my stomach. "Why was I in one?"

Stark looked genuinely baffled at that one, like he thought it made perfect sense. "Safety precautions," he said slowly, as if it were obvious. "It was- never mind, the point is that Bruce is-" He let out a breath, frustrated at what he was thinking. "I can't figure out how to help him. Each time I try to get close, he tells me there's no use and pushes away again."

I mulled that over in my head. "Well," I began, and Stark's head popped up; he hadn't been expecting a reply. "That's your problem."

He sighed. "How so? I've tried everything: more safety protocols, reinforced windows and walls- heck, even a Baby Monitor Protocol for JARVIS."

"Exactly." I scratched at my palm, running the words through in my head. "You're forcing him to be close to you. And that's the last thing he wants- much less needs- at the moment."

I raised my head to look Stark straight in the eyes- his undivided attention was on me. "People with that brand of darkness, they feel it more keenly than anyone else. Nobody can ever understand unless they've been marked the same, and once you are, you never stay around long enough to understand someone else. Afterall, the closer other people get, the more danger they're in."

Taking another sip of coffee to wet my throat, I set it down with a dull clink. "Someone like Bruce isn't capable of putting innocents at risk. It's not in his programming, in his blood. The mere idea is revolting to him. To be honest, the fact that he's not on the run right now is impressive. But he chose to stay- he _chose_ your presence. However, he didn't _choose_ your involvement."

I leaned back in my seat. _Another breath. In, out_. "Bruce is falling. It's up to him to decide if he's going to stop his descent. But if you force him to feel comfortable, he's going to resist with every bone in his body. Stark... the closer you get, the further he'll fall." I shook my head. "And if he hits the ground too hard, he's not getting back up."

Stark's hands were still, cupped around the mug. He was so quiet, I thought he'd surely be thinking something ugly- what else could he think, when I so easily spoke of darkness and falling?

Then he spoke, and for the second time, I was shocked by his reaction.

"Okay."

Stark's eyes were locked on mine, but they weren't hostile. He was nodding too, without a trace of revulsion. "I get it. I'll give Bruce space. And... I'll give you as much room as you need."

Somehow, I managed to find my voice. "Wait- you're- not... You're not asking questions?"

Stark laughed in reply, but the sound was short and more than a little bitter. "Kid, this is the first time you've ever talked to me. _Really_ talked. Not just witty remarks and barbs."

"But-"

"Gale." Stark interrupted, an odd look in his eye: tired, heavy, but understanding. It made him seem... tangible. "Of course I've got questions. But it doesn't take a genius to know you're talking from experience, not empathy."

"Experience?" I echoed. "Stark, I don't..."

"You said some people are branded with darkness," he finished, a tilt in his head. "Not just Bruce. You mean _you_."

Looking back on that early morning in the kitchen, I don't know why I said what I did. I don't know why I spent so much time concealing myself, only to have the dam break in the face of a few words and a cup of coffee. Then again, I've fallen for less.

"I'm not like Bruce," I replied slowly. "I'm not marked the way he is." I looked off to the walls of the room, holding my head up. Beyond everything, I learned to bare my face from a young age, to never apologize for being the way I was.

"I was bred dark, not branded." A small, bitter grin came over me. "See, Bruce was turned into a monster. Me, I was born one."

"And..." Stark asked, his face telling that half of him didn't want to know the answer. "What's the difference?"

"I'm more dangerous," I shrugged. "It's that simple. In the end, Bruce will be stopped or he'll stop himself. But I won't. I won't know better. I'll just keep tearing things apart. Afterall, it's what I good at. You don't expect a hunting dog to spare a rabbit. You won't expect me to spare you."

"Gale," he said softly, and I turned to face him. "You shouldn't be saying those things. You're too young to be thinking like that."

"No," I scoffed. "I'm too young to be orphan. I'm too young to have fled an entire country. I'm too young _to_ _know_ that I'm too young for this. But I am. You gotta understand, Stark, that's just how things are for me. People who are born with this, this darkness inside them, we don't act like those who weren't. We don't have memories of a better life, of anything with _light_. We're just... there. In the dark. In a way, I guess, we're what some religious folk call devils."

All of a sudden, my body felt as heavy as my words. I let go of the mug and brought my hands up to my face, resting it there. "I've got no clue what it's like to be normal, Stark. To be _human_. And every day, every night, I'm reminded of it. Of-" I raised a single finger- _crackling silver like lightning flashed in my head_ \- and a bolt of grey wind shot towards the wall, but dissipated before it hit. "This."

Stark's thumb was lightly tapping against the handle of his mug. "Kid," he began, "I don't pretend to know you. You've never talked to me as much as you do with Clint or Natasha. And I'm fine with that." He shook his head. "You won't remember it, but we don't get along. But believe me- you're human. Well, for the most part."

I was already shaking my head. "No, I'm not like you-"

"Hey!" Stark raised his voice, making me freeze. "This is where you zip it. I'm an _actual_ adult, and I'm talking to you."

_"Speak when spoken to_ , _" the man said, his fingers glittering sharp grey. "Don't interrupt me, Hyri."_

_Or else._

My face must've betrayed the memory in my head, because Stark's expression immediately softened. "Gale," he said hurriedly. "I didn't mean- _God_." He ran his hands back through his hair, making it rumple up on one end. A short, bitter chuckle escaped him. "I sound like my dad."

I hadn't moved an inch. Every bone in my body was screaming at me to be silent, to not provoke a strong man's anger.

Across the table, Stark glanced up at me. "What I meant to say," he started again, deliberately much quieter. "Is that you _are_ human. I've seen you shout, laugh, cry, _feel_ things that humans do. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you won't show how utterly emotional you are. You're _human_ , Gale, even if your body isn't."

_You aren't human, Gale. You never will be._

_Anyone who says different is lying. And you will never lie to yourself, Gale. Take the truth and press it too your chest. Even if the truth is sharp, fall upon that sword. It's a more honorable death than a coward's._

_-pale skin pale face heartbeat racing thudthudthud-_

"Gale?" Stark asked, concern lacing his tone. "Gale, say something. I'm sorry I spoke like that. Please- you're starting to freak me out, Gale."

_Don't interrupt me, Gale._

"You know," I said, barely above a whisper. "Konstantin would have me kill you for saying those things."

The moment I made a sound, Stark relaxed- and then took in what I'd said. "Konstantin?" He frowned. "Who's that?" A sort of dawning realization came over his face. "Your dad? Wait- I sure hope not, because if he'd kill you for _that_ then we're gonna have words-"

"No, he was-" Jesus. Right as I was saying it, I realized I didn't have a word for what I wanted to actually _say_. "Uh... you know, the thing. The... what's the word... like a leader? But on a deeper level than that. Not family, not really a friend, but someone who shapes every aspect of your life. Someone with your unconditional loyalty."

"Uh..." Stark raised his eyebrows. "A dictator?"

I shot him a mild glare. "Konst-" His name stuck in my throat this time, sharp as the edge of a razor.. "He was in charge of me. Me and a group... some other young adults."

"You mean kids," Stark corrected. "God, it's like no one ever explained adolescence to you. See, Gale, there's this weird in-between state called Purgatory, and it's full of love triangles and acne and homework that wasn't due today but your teacher swears it is."

"We didn't have a choice!" I snapped, the words tasting silver. "Me and the others, we had two options: be shunned from our community or accept Konstantin's offer. It's not like we were _stupid_ enough to choose the former."

"Others," he repeated, as if the word set a whole new set of gears whirling in his head. "So this Konstantin... he took you in. Gave you a home."

"He gave me a _purpose_ ," I muttered, tracing the edge of the mug with my thumb. "Something to fight for, to believe in. A couple of words and a promise of a better world. And like the idiot I am..."

"Hey hey hey." Stark immediately jumped in, a frown setting into his face. "Don't beat yourself up over what you did. You can't fix anything with your head in the past."

_God_ \- _just couldn't let this rest._ "The past is all I've got!" I threw my hands up, fingertips trailing grey that faded in a heartbeat. "I can't remember you or this place or even if I'm _happy_ here! I don't remember _anything_!"

Stark leaned back from the table, obviously wishing to reply but remaining silent for now. Instead, he took a gulp of coffee, and refused to do anything else but stare down at the mug.

Mine had gone cold. For a brief moment I wondered why, and then realized my hands were freckled with silver. _You can't hide it, can't wish it away. You have to deal with it._

A shiver flashed from the back of my neck all the way down my spine. 

_Where the markings were._

No, just a shiver.

_You chose wings for a reason. Wings with your echelon trailing down._

Wings for birds. Downwards to keep me grounded.

_You knew what it meant. It's not a harmless mark._

_You chose a sword. A sword to fall upon, to fight with._

_To kill with._

**_Crack!_**

My eyes shot up at the same moment Stark's did. The mug in my hands had split, with spider-web cracks emanating from my fingertips. The ceramic under the paint was white, but I blinked, and it gleamed iron.

I was the first to break the silence. "Tests."

"What?"

My eyes were frozen on the cracked mug. "You said it that night. You can figure out what's wrong with me."

Stark's voice was hesitant. "I recall you being _very_ upset about that idea."

"But if I remember this last year, then I'll go back to normal," I cut across him. "If I remember, then I won't feel so useless." I tapped the table softly, sending a trickle of cool air out in a ripple. "Every time I take a step, a breath, I feel like I'm in someone else's body. The way you all look at me, like you want me to say something I don't even have the words for... I don't know how much more of it I can take before I ruin any chance of staying here and being happy."

He was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Then, with a sigh, Stark scratched the back of his head. "I'm not saying that Clint'll like it, or Natasha, or Pepper."

"It's my life, not theirs."

Stark cracked a grin, albeit a slightly forced one. "Sure you need my help? You seem to be recovering your attitude fine."

"Just-" I exhaled sharply. "Can you?"

"Help?" He finished, raising an eyebrow. "Uh, you're talking to the man who hacked the Pentagon on a dare. Yes, I can help. But first, I have to know what's different about you."

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I nodded. "Then it's settled. But I get veto power, understood?"

"Loud and clear, Gale." Stark held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "You're the boss. Well, besides me. I just, you know, pay for everything, and make everyone look cool, and know how to operate every single piece of tech under the sun-"

I waved a hand. "I get it, I get it." I paused to look at my palms, at the creases that ran through them in the shape of an 'H'. "I want to be back to normal."

"Say no more." Stark cocked his head, studying me. "You're sure about this?"

_You know what you can do. You know what your 'normal' is. And you know they've never seen anything like it before._

_If you go through with this, just understand that there are things worth forgetting. Things you won't want to remember._

_Go on. Remember it. Remember **all** of it._

"Let's get started."

* * *

_"You're impossible."_

_"No, I just don't like you."_

_"Why? I've been super duper nice to you this entire time!"_

_"Doesn't mean you're my friend."_

_"Sheesh, you're a stick in the mud. Who'd want to be pals with a blind girl in the first place- HEY!"_

_The blonde girl smirked as the boy clapped his hands over his ears, wincing as if they'd just been painfully popped. He backpedaled away from her until he ran into the wall, all the while complaining about 'jokes' and how 'uptight air legacies never got them'._

_Stifling a sigh, I turned back to my book. In the other armchair next to me, the second boy failed to contain his annoyance. "You two are acting like children," he grumbled._

_The girl's head swiveled toward him, her dull blue eyes eerily locked on his face. "We **are** children," she smirked. "Not to mention we're only a year apart in age."_

_The first boy, who was rubbing his jaw on the other side of the room, glared at her. "A year's a big difference, sweetheart. Us dudes are sixteen. You're fifteen. A veritable child in the ways of the world."_

_She tossed her head, making her choppy hair swing back and forth. "At least I'm older than her." She jerked a thumb in my direction._

_This whole time, my head was down while I read my book. But when the girl spoke up, I immediately felt three pairs of eyes focus on me. Without missing a beat, I flipped the page, and started back at the top._

_"Okay, let's sort this out." The whiny boy walked over to my chair, steering clear of the girl. He crouched down in front of me, an open look on his face. "Hey, kid, this is a meeting for actual adults," he said in a simpering tone. "So why don't you grab a juice box and find some cartoons?"_

_I ignored him. Reaching the bottom of the page, I went to the next. The boy stared at me for a moment._

_"Uh, rude." He snorted. "Look, kiddo, you're like eight or something. I ain't dealing with a toddler, so beat it." When I didn't reply, he flicked the back of my book. "Scram. Hit the road. Hey, you deaf or somethin'?"_

_"Your accent is terrible," I said calmly. "You're not from here. I'd say... Irish? No, Scottish."_

_"She speaks!" The boy stood up, tossing his hands in the air. "Wait- what? How'd you-"_

_"I'm smarter than you." I flipped the page._

_An angry look came into the boy's eyes, but before he could fire back, the door swung open. A tall man in a grey suit walked in, and the room fell silent. Konstantin._

_His blue eyes swept over us, falling on me. The hint of a grin tugged at his lips when he saw my blank expression, and the residue frustration on the boy's. "I see you all are... acquainting yourselves."_

_"Sir," the girl jumped in. "I can't possibly work with these idiots-"_

_"You can, and you will." Konstantin turned away from her, ending her tangent. "As for the rest of you, you chose to be here. If you're getting cold feet now..." He left the sentence unfinished, letting the silent understanding sink over us._

_If we backed out, we had nowhere else to go. If we left, we had nothing to take with us._

_"Wonderful." He smiled. "Now that we're all in agreement, let's review what we went over in our last meeting."_

_"You had us memorize a bunch of words," the second boy added. "Like maithri- control. And you told us 'knowledge is power' or whatever that's supposed to mean."_

_"Moron," the girl muttered._

_The boy stood up from the armchair, face flushing red to match the dyed tips of his hair. "I can break your bones with a snap. A silly little air legacy doesn't stand a chance against me."_

_"Sten," Konstantin said smoothly. "As interesting as that confrontation would be, I doubt you'd win. Not because you aren't strong- why else do you think I chose you?- but because, indeed, knowledge is power. And tell me, Sten, do you actually **know** anything about your opponent?"_

_Sten glanced back at the girl. "She's blind," he grumbled. "How much of a fight can she put up?"_

_Konstantin chuckled. "You've met Ciana exactly once before, at our last meeting. You know what she looks like, and what circle she's in."_

_"It's Ray," the girl grumbled. "Call me Ciana and I don't care how important you are, I'll send a shock wave so strong it-"_

_"Ray." Konstantin repeated. "I'm sure you'd love to implode the eardrums of every irritating person you meet, but now is not the time. I'd rather you all get accustomed to each other. Afterall, we'll be spending a lot of time together."_

_"Together?" The first boy laughed. "Uh, no. I ain't wasting my weekends with a blind extra from Mean Girls, a walking blonde tank, and a literal child."_

_Konstantin shook his head. "Gale's thirteen. We established that last time."_

_The boy made a face and pointed to me where I sat quietly. "You also said she was crazy powerful! So what can she do? Kill people with her puppy dog eyes? Beg for her bedtime to go from seven to seven-thirty? She's just a waste of time, man-"_

_Konstantin's face darkened, and the boy instantly shut his mouth. "Watch your tone, Aeron," he said, voice deceptively still. "Gale is one of the most important members of this team. Without her, we lose the one thing that we need to succeed."_

_Ray's hands were in the pockets of her sweatpants, but I could see her knotting the fabric between her fingers. "And what," she gritted her teeth, "is that?"_

_"Ruthlessness."_

_Very carefully, I slid a paper scrap in the pages to mark my place, and gently set the book down on the arm of my chair. The others immediately tuned into the movements. All of a sudden, their annoyed glances turned guarded._

_"Gale is young," Konstantin continued, as if nothing had happened. "You all are. Each person in this room has their talents. Ciana- Ray, excuse me- is unparalleled in communication fields. Sten is the youngest Ironblood to pass the entering trials. Aeron can create explosions that decimate houses without C-4 or gasoline. And Gale's pure connection with her legacy is matched by none."_

_Another air settled in the room, but this one was palpably electric. Konstantin's words wove themselves in our minds, latching on tight and leaving no room for doubt to grow._

_He smiled, a true smile, and clasped his hands behind his back. "What we in this room accomplish, what we do, what we **create**... you will remember it. Remember **all** of it."_

_"Let's get started."_

Also an Author's Note: Alright, so remember the 'I'm taking characters' thing happened? Well, here are your winners. Ciana (Ray) was submitted by [Flamey is a Spartan](https://www.quotev.com/FlameyFighter), Sten was submitted by [Avacado the James Bond](https://www.quotev.com/lakunoc), and last but not least, Aeron was submitted by [FaceEverythingAndRise](https://www.quotev.com/TheAverageAnomaly). Thank you guys so much for giving me such wonderful material to work with!


	38. The further I fall

Author's Note:

BEHOLD

One of the most amazing comments this story has received, courtesy of [Ragnarok'n'roll](https://www.quotev.com/RagnarokRagnaroll):

SWOOSHY BOI  
A Poem  
  
my naym is gale  
and wen i see  
an angrey god  
or clinton b  
i do not hide  
i do not chase  
i lose control  
i bern ur face

Whoever you are, you are a gift to humankind. **Thank you so gosh darn diddly much**.

"And you're sure this will work?" I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, trying not to look as worried as I felt. 

Stark tapped a few words into one of his fancy glass-screen thingies, only pausing a moment to throw a glance back at me. "It's an MRI. It'll be over in about an hour-"

"An _hour_?" Suddenly, the cylindrical machine I was sitting on seemed _very_ unfriendly.

"Chill, kiddo." He lazily waved a hand behind him. "You just sit there and let it do its magic. After a while, presto! We got everything we need to know."

My eyes flickered to my right- there wasn't a lot of space to put a human in the machine. It looked a bit... cramped, for my liking. And honestly, I'd rather be anywhere than trapped in a thing like _that_.

Stark sighed, and walked over to where I sat. "Gale, listen to me." He was absentmindedly spinning a little stylus in between his fingers as he spoke, making my focus split for a moment. "You're gonna be fine. I'm even gonna put a movie for you while you're in there. Before you know it, it'll be over."

"I know, I know, I just..." My arms were curled tight around my stomach, and half of my mind was voting to back out of this whole deal. "I don't like small spaces. I _really_ don't like them."

Stark nodded a few times, and then reached forward to pat the flat bed I was seated on. "I got it. Alright, kiddo, hop up. Let's get this show on the road."

There was a hard lump in my throat when I layed down. I had to scoot up to reach the tiny pillow, which was a nice gesture but reminded me of the padding in coffins- which _seriously_ didn't improve my anxiety.

Stark had moved behind a glass wall that was sectioning off the MRI from the rest of his lab, the state of which was horrendous. There were heaps of scrap metal, tangled masses of wires, and a disturbing number of takeout boxes scattered over the worktables. 

For a second, the image of a humongous cavern and two bickering brothers (who were strangely short) filled my head. Metal and wood and thread... _purple is for vagrants_ -

The platform lurched backwards. My hands shot out to grip the side of side, the sound of a heart thumping in my ears. As the inner walls of the machine slowly moved over my head, I tasted something bitter on the back on my tongue. _This wasn't right, wasn't natural_.

When the platform finally stopped moving, I was in far enough that the tips of my bare feet didn't even peek out the other end. The smooth white ceiling was less than a foot from my face, and although the rational part of my brain said I was breathing just fine, the rational part of my brain was not in charge.

Then the white surface sparked to life, and a tiny image of Stark's face sprang into view.

"You there, kiddo?" He asked, his voice coming in from speakers I couldn't see, right behind my head. 

It took a moment to answer- my throat was dry. "I- I don't like this, Stark, it's freaking me out-"

"Okay, okay," he jumped in. "Just hang in there for a sec, 'kay?" Stark turned to his left, towards a different screen most likely, and was quiet for a minute.

I was about to give in and all but sprint out of the room, but a crackling sound filled the air, and the entire inside of the MRI burst into color.

Waves of green and golden grass stretched out, curving upwards to meet to face of a stone mountain peak far away. Tall trees stood in patches, none too close. The ground was freckled with tiny wildflowers in purple and white, and the sky... oh, the sky was every shade of blue that wanted to sing.

"Gale?" Stark's voice came again. "Kid, you good?"

The blades of grass were rippling in a breeze I couldn't feel. "I... what is this?"

A small chuckle carried over the speakers. "I'm Tony freakin' Stark. If you think _this_ screen is cool, you should see the TV in the Malibu house."

Off in the distance, I caught the quick stroke of a bird's wings, riding the currents high above the ground. I honestly couldn't believe that this was all fake; my fingers itched to reach out and trace the curve of the speckled wildflowers. 

My senses came back to me, just enough to shake the cobwebs out of my head. "Stark, this is... why?"

Everything was quiet for a moment, and I thought he must not've heard me, but there was an intake of breath and shuffling feet. "Don't want you to panic in there, kiddo. It's unsettling, I know. I've got stuff like this set up all over for when someone needs... help."

For once, at least in my current memory, I was incapable of answering.

"I'm gonna start the machine now. It'll make a lot of noise and you have to stay as still as you can, but JARVIS has every song and movie ever produced on call. Just ask, and ye shall receive." It sounded like Stark was walking away, but his footsteps paused. "If you need to get out, and get out fast, do it. JARVIS'll tell me, and I'll be here in a flash."

I should've told him I didn't need help, or that I was grateful for it, but the speaker clicked off before whatever words my mind chose reached my mouth.

A scarce second later, the metal around me roared to life. A loud, regular _whump whump whump_ made my lungs feel smaller and smaller with every beat. Without realizing it, my hands had started to shake- and silver was nudging at the undersides of my skin.

"Your heart rate is increasing." JARVIS's voice cut through the heavy noise. "Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?"

Forcing a gulp down, I shook my head. "I'm- I'm okay. I just really need a distraction or-"

Without warning, the speakers switched on again, and a walking bass line floated into the air. Light piano followed, and a woman's voice echoed after. There was a popping sound when the bass went low, like it'd been carried over from a record player. As the woman's voice trickled through the melody, the lingering cold in my fingertips seemed to ebb.

"I took the liberty of analyzing your previous selections," JARVIS said calmly. "This seems to be in your preferred taste."

His tone wasn't hostile, but the words left a metallic taste in my mouth. " _Previous_ selections?"

"The songs you frequently played in your room, Gale. You have access to any music domain you wish. I simply looked back to when you-"

"Remembered why I was here," I finished with a humorless grin that the AI couldn't see. The music sounded thin to my ears now, the notes falling flat.

"Yes, but-"

"Could you switch genres now?" I interrupted. "Something new."

If JARVIS had been human, he would've sighed. "Certainly, Gale."

The jazz abruptly cut off the the roll of a drum, and without skipping a beat, guitar strings picked up the slack. As the singer drew their first breath, I could immediately tell it was a modern song. The rhythm, the vocal trips and flutters- it all was new. And the words seemed naggingly familiar. But it wasn't bad, per say, it was just... different.

_You never hear me singin' love songs_

_Wasn't big on poetry_

_Never cried in the movies_

_Didn't wanna feel so weak_

_Try to relax_ , I told myself. _It's just music. And you're out on a mountain field, not stuck inside metal and glass. Nothing to worry about. Just... don't freak out._

I shut my eyes, even though the screen was still showing the peaceful meadow. The back of my eyelids were tinted green- though from what, I wasn't sure. But instead of worrying about it, I imagined the melody of the song matching my heartbeat, rising and falling with the words. No panic, no bitterness, just music. 

_I would never talk about it_

_Never let it get too deep_

_But somethin's in me changin'_

_Guess you did something to me_

Music and quiet, the kind of quiet that settles heavy in the air...

_A radio, a room full of windows, and coffee settling in my stomach._

_"~'Cause for the first time I get worried, when I'm lookin' in your eyes," came her voice from the speaker. "That one day you might leave me, and it keeps me up at night~"_

_Ray let her head roll back, hitting the wooden bookshelf with a dull thunk. "Gods above," she groaned. "Can someone turn that off?"_

_"Shhhh," Aeron shook his head at her, eyes closed as he stood in the middle of the room, a forgotten book in his hands. "Let the words wash over you, darling."_

_"~I guess that means I really love you, 'cause I'm afraid to make mistakes. If you ever left me that would be my first heartbreak~" The music played on in the background_

_"Ray's right," Sten spoke up from the largest window in the library, where he was sitting on the bay window seat with his feet propped up on a backpack. "This song can't be more a year old. And in a place like this?" He gestured to the high ceiling and the sleek curve of steel and wood. "It's more out of place than all of you."_

_Aeron's brown eyes shot open and narrowed at the other boy. " **Excuse** me?"_

_Sten spared him the barest glance before returning to his small notebook, making a pointed scratch of pencil. "You're wearing flannel. **Flannel**. In a house like this, you go for the lumberjack approach. And Ray's far from better-" She muttered a protest, but Sten plowed on. "Leggings and a Nike shirt. Really? This is a nice place, not a track meet."_

_"Sweetheart," Aeron said, voice dangerously low as he glared at the other boy. "Let's put aside our differences and take care of this arrogant pretender."_

_Ray pulled a face, seeming to entertain the idea. "I can put up with you for a minute, firebug. You wanna take a swing at him first?"_

_Aeron cracked his knuckles, sending darts of flame skidding over his hands. "My pleasure." He started walking over to Sten, who didn't appear worried in the slightest._

_I sighed, set my book down on coffee table, and looked over to Ray. "Konstantin won't appreciate you escalating the situation," I told her quietly, knowing full well that she could hear me from all the way across the room._

_Ray just scoffed, and flicked a hand at me. "Run along, squirt. I don't care how powerful you think you are-"_

_Without warning, I snapped my fingers in Aeron's direction. There was a faint whistle, and suddenly the sparks dancing on his hands went out with a hiss._

_All three of them turned to me- Sten with suspicion, Aeron with indignation, and Ray with cool neutrality. "So," she began, but her voice had an edge in it. "You can blow out candles. Big whoop. Do you even have an echelon?"_

_"She's a baby." Sten rolled his eyes. "I'm the only one here with an **actual** echelon. All of you are years behind me."_

_"How'd you do that?" Aeron demanded, glaring at me. "You're an air legacy, not a water one. You can't counter mine."_

_"Fire feeds on oxygen," I said, bored. Picking on a fleck of mud on my shirt, I felt a twinge of cool air skittering back over my bare arms, like a bird flying back to its keeper. "Oxygen is in air. Like you said, that's my legacy."_

_The door on the far wall swung open, and Konstantin strode in at a brisk pace. The conversation immediately fell silent as each of us looked to him. Sten and I stood up from our seats, and Aeron backed up to the wall instead of lingering in the middle of the room. Konstantin stopped in the space we created, dressed as always in a clean suit. Blue, this time, and a silver tie._

_"I do hope none of you are starting fights in my library," he said, his way of a greeting. "Some of these books are quite expensive. I'd hate for them to be caught in the cross-fire."_

_"He started it!" Aeron pointed at Sten. "He keeps saying he's better than us, just because he's already got an echelon-"_

_"Do **you**?" Konstantin raised an eyebrow. Aeron stammered for a second, face slowly turning as red as his flannel shirt. "That's what I thought."_

_"Look," Ray spoke up, drawing everyone's focus back to her. Her blank eyes swept the room, and I caught Sten twitching uncomfortably at it. "I get that these meetings are important, but I've got a job. The Silverfoot leaders are talking about making contact with South Africa- there's a proposal for a second base of operations, so I simply can't be spending all my time here when they need me."_

_Konstantin nodded, hands in his pockets. "It's as worthy an explanation as any, Ray. But if I think your involvement **here** is beginning to slack..."_

_"Never." Ray replied promptly. "I'm technically not a member yet, so I have some leeway. I doubt Sten and his precious echelon can say the same," she muttered under her breath._

_Sten's face hardened at the backhanded comment. "I've worked five times as hard as any Ironblood, and despite being half the usual age-"_

_"No one is doubting your strength," Konstantin quietly assured. Outside, the wind pushed a patch of clouds, and a panel of light slid across the floor to lap at Konstantin's shoes. "If any one of you has pre-existing commitments such as that, I'm sure I can work something out with the echelon heads."_

_Aeron crossed his arms, a sullen look on his face. "And what if we don't have our eyes on any echelon yet? Do you expect us to spend every spare moment of our time here, reading books on useless languages and listening to you talk?"_

_"What's wrong with that?" I gave Aeron a befuddled look. "That's what I do."_

_The red-head. laughed at that. "Yeah, right, 'cause that's- that would be-" He abruptly stopped, and stared at me. "You've gotta be kidding me."_

_There was a tiny grin on Konstantin's face. "On the contrary, Aeron," he said pleasantly. "Gale's room is two floors up, in the private wing."_

_Ray attempted and failed to hold back a snort. "You **live** here? Jeez, I knew you were a teacher's pet but I never guessed you'd actually sleep and eat in this house."_

_"Where else would she go?" Konstantin asked the other girl, suddenly bordering on accusing. "Where else could she stay?"_

_Ray faltered. "I thought she moved in with her uncle," she said uncertainly. "I heard-"_

_"You heard." Konstantin repeated. "What's the first rule that incoming Silverfoots are taught?" Not waiting for an answer, he plowed on. "Confirm what you hear. Know what information is good, and what's just hearsay. Have you considered that as the reason you aren't a **real** Silverfoot?"_

_For the first time since I'd met her, Ray's face betrayed a single emotion: shame. "My apologies," she muttered. "It won't happen again."_

_The edge in Konstantin's posture eased. "It's not your abilities I doubt," he confided. "It's your determination. Put stubbornness in the same hand as ambition, and it's easy to overlook the simple fact that you don't know everything."_

_In the quiet that followed, the song from the radio seeped in._

_"~But you know it's not that easy to get out of my head, so I guess that it's a good thing when you want something so bad~"_

_Konstantin nodded appreciatively, an idle smile on his face. "Humans are capable of such lovely music, don't you agree?"_

_Sten's jaw seemed to drop at his words. "This- this is **modern**." Like it was an insult._

_The blonde man actually let out a little laugh. "Just because I collect valuables from around the world doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good love song. You should pay attention to the outside more often, Sten."_

_"I'm an Ironblood," Sten shot back. "I'm stationed at the edges of our territory. I get enough outside time."_

_"I meant outside as in the human world," Konstantin corrected himself. "To my knowledge, none of you has spent more than a few weeks beyond the borders of the Teneo." With that, he turned around and headed towards the door. "Ray," he called out as he walked. "Come with me. I'd like to speak to you in greater depth about this... proposal... of the Silverfoot heads."_

_"Naturally," Ray grumbled, but abandoned her post nevertheless and trotted after Konstantin, closing the door behind her._

_Sten was the first to move. He bent down to grab his backpack and slung it over his shoulders. "I'm going to work," he announced with a self-righteous air. "You know," he paused, as an afterthought. "Aeron made a valid point."_

_"I did?" Aeron asked in surprise._

_"He did?" I said at the same time, equally as shocked._

_A grin appeared on Sten's face. "I'm in an echelon. Miss Determination is being all but fed a Silverfoot position on a golden plate. So what are you two doing, besides being general nuisances?"_

_"I'm going to join an offensive echelon." Aeron straightened up proudly, as if that statement made him more important than he felt. "Actually, I'm thinking about teaming up with the Ironbloods myself."_

_"Right." Sten smirked. "Good luck with that."_

_"You think I can't do it?" Aeron blustered. "I'm a firebug. I can burn you with a snap-"_

_"Provided **she** -" Sten jerked a thumb at me. "-doesn't do her little trick and blow out your fire."_

_Both boys turned to face me, neither of them looking impressed. "Sure," Aeron said slowly. "Let's give the wannabe the benefit of the doubt." He suddenly stretched his arms behind his back, cracking his neck loudly. "My eyes are gonna fall out if I read another book. See ya never, hopefully."_

_Aeron strolled out of the room, leaving me and Sten standing there in the otherwise empty library._

_The boy looked at me again, but this time, his frown wasn't angry- just... perplexed._

_"What?" I asked. "Spit it out."_

_"I'm wondering how a runt like you," Sten began slowly, as if he was going over his reasoning as he spoke, "is living in Konstantin's home. He says you're more powerful than all of us. But you're three years younger than me, and even I'm considered one of the strongest youths."_

_I held back a sigh. I'd only known this boy for a couple of days, so what gave him the right to question me? I was old enough to be on Konstantin's team. That should be good enough for him._

_"Everyone knows about you." His voice wasn't sharp, but it felt like that in my ears. "You're all everyone talked about for months. It's why you live here, isn't it? Your parents-"_

_Something sparked in my chest, something cold and awfully familiar. There was a flash of grey, and the windows rattled in their frames. A spiral of quick wind snapped out around me, but when it reached Sten, he didn't even flinch. His expression darkened, the rest of him utterly motionless._

_"You're dangerous," he agreed in a low tone. "Not because you're powerful. You're untrained. And believe me, there's a difference. So if you show the tiniest sign of threatening my position on Konstantin's team, or even in my echelon..."_

_Sten stepped closer to me, the inches between us more noticeable than ever. "There's a good reason why earth and air legacies don't get along. I'm not going to jeopardize my future for a thirteen year-old. Understood?"_

_I didn't give him the satisfaction of replying, no matter how his words dug at me with sharp claws and sharper. Instead, I watched him walk out of the library, leaving only the smell of cheap deodorant and damp soil behind._

_"~I wanna run, I wanna stay, hold every piece so it won't break. Wanna let go, wanna hold tight, afraid I might suffocate you with my love," the radio kept singing. "How much is enough? How much is safe~"_

_**Silver**._

_The radio was knocked off the table and crashed into the floor. The music crackled to a halt._

_I just wanted-_

_I wanted it to stop._

"-per Mr. Stark's request. However, I am not aware of what prompted him."

Blue. 

Blue sky.

My eyes were open, but I didn't remember closing them. Why was I outdoors? I saw grass and trees and clouds, but I felt no wind. No wind at all-

_no air to breathe_

As if to spite the thought, my lungs sucked in as much air as I could, even though it made my chest hurt. 

"Gale? Your heart rate is increasing again."

_JARVIS_. In one big rush, reality came flooding in. All of a sudden, I was so keenly aware of the walls of the machine, of how close they were, that I thought one wrong twitch would send them caving in-

The surface I was laying on lurched, causing my hands to grip white-knuckled on the edges. As it slid forward, the gentle field gave way to a white ceiling with tiles that blurred into one another.

As soon as most of my body was free, I swung my legs over the side and let my heels press into the cold floor. _Ground_ , the always whirring piece of me thought. _Earth to keep you down when you're too full of air_.

Sucking in a breath, I screwed my eyes shut and tried to focus on everything else: the smell of hand sanitizer and oil, the hiss of air conditioner, the cold metal worming its way under my skin. Slowly, and less surely than I would've liked, my heart began to calm.

Overhead, the speakers crinkled like tin foil, and someone cleared their throat loudly. "Uh... kid- Gale, you..." Stark's sounded uncertain- or was that just because of the electronics?

The glass wall that separated the MRI and the rest of the room was as clear as air. So there was no mistaking the pale faces of Stark and Dr. Banner, standing side by side- both staring straight at me. The tablet in Dr. Banner's hands glowed a soft blue, but the computers around the two men were gently blinking red. The off-beats of the lights colored in their faces, sending the angles of them into high relief.

I faced them, but neither made another attempt to speak or even move. They just... stared.

"Guys-" I started, only to find my throat as dry as it'd been when I got into the machine. Wetting my lips, I tried again. "Is it over already? It didn't seem too long to me."

Stark raised a hand and rubbed it against his chest, directly over where the arc reactor was. The gesture didn't seem purposeful; more like a subconscious habit. 

_Something is wrong_. My breath hitched in my lungs. _Something is terribly wrong_.

Dr. Banner was the first to step out from behind the glass. With each footstep he made towards me, my heartbeat clamored louder and louder. Stark followed, but unlike the doctor, he carefully sat down on the edge of the metal cot, only a couple of feet away from me.

"Gale," Dr. Banner said hesitantly. He glanced down at the tablet he was holding, looking about as uncomfortable as anyone could be. "We- we stopped it early."

"Early?" I frowned. "Did you find something?"

The moment my words hit the air, their expressions darkened. On my left, Stark slowly reached out a hand. I didn't flinch away- there was nothing about this situation that _wasn't_ befuddling. But when I showed no aversion, Stark gently touched his fingers to my shoulder.

"Kid..." The wrinkles on his face seemed heavier, like they were pulling him into the ground. "The... the machine is thorough. It started with her head and worked its way down... but when we got to your lungs..."

_Something is terribly, incomprehensibly wrong._

Dr. Banner wordlessly held out the tablet so I could see. The screen held a thin blue box, encompassing a single image: the rendering of a chest, with the ribs outlined in white. It was completely ordinary. Nothing was out of place, or broken, or otherwise currently injured. Except, of course, for the scars.

The tissue inside was littered with pale marks, ranging from the width of a toothpick to the length of a finger. Too exact for some sharp thing to be inhaled, and too deep for a knife. There must've been thousands of cuts- in some places they piled on top of each other, making warped threads rise like spiderwebs. But that wasn't the worst, because at the top of the left-side lung was a single word scratched out, as big as a hand.

_HYRI_

Suddenly, my blood ran _very_ cold.

_Funny_ , a single sane thought echoed. _You'd think I'd be used to the chill by now._

"I can't..." Dr. Banner's voice brought my head reeling into reality. Eyes flickered up, I watched him search for the words, for the reason behind what we'd all just seen. And he found no valid logic, because he was staring at the proof that humanity wasn't always a virtue. "Gale- this isn't an accident. This is-" Dr. Banner broke off, like he couldn't even say what he was thinking.

Stark shifted, and moved his hand from my shoulder to my back. He cautiously placed it between my shoulder blades, right over the top of the tattoo. The heat from his skin cut through my shirt and spread to the edges of the inky wings. For a heartbeat, it felt like they were unfurling, about to spread into flight.

"This is about them, isn't it?" Stark asked quietly. His voice was steady, steadier than Dr. Banner's. "Your nightmares. This is what you relive each time."

Miraculously, I remembered to take a breath before I spoke. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"I've seen you cut open a _god_ with nothing but the air." Stark looked away, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Something like this doesn't just _happen._ Someone did this to you- and you're just sitting there as if this doesn't matter. God, Gale, you're just..."

Dr. Banner took a step back, his face drawn tight. "What kind of monster would do that?" He whispered.

_Oh good lord, they can't even grasp the half of it._

_They can't begin to fathom what really happened._

Slowly, I shook my head. "Not monsters," I corrected. "People."

"People don't hurt _children_ like that-"

"No." I let my eyes slip close; I couldn't fight off the heaviness in my body anymore. " _People_. Calling them monsters... makes it seem like we could never do what they did. But under the right circumstances, everyone crumbles."

All of a sudden, the air felt too thick in this room. Too flat, too stale, too- I just couldn't stay another second in here.

I all but sprung to my feet, causing Stark's hand to fall and Dr. Banner to startle backwards. Without leaving a spare moment for either man to say something, I headed quickly to the door and pushed through it with more force than I probably needed.

As I walked down the hall, my legs were prickling with pins and needles as blood rushed down into them. With each step, my veins pulsed wind-cold or fever-hot; I couldn't tell which. 

God, I was tired. I just- Every time I thought I was getting better, every time I started to hope I even could... I- it still- 

At the end of the corridor, something moved. A flash of green whirled behind the corner, like someone had flicked an emerald flag just out of sight.

_Not real_ , my head murmured. _You're just exhausted from sleep deprivation and memories. You're seeing things that aren't there._

So I put it out of mind, and kept walking.

As I passed through the main room, the soaring ceiling and glass walls seemed to pull some of the tension in my bones out and into the empty space. No one else was there. The room felt refreshingly blank- nothing to worry about, no person to take into account, no conversation to dance around.

Outside, the bright morning sun threw buildings into beacons of light and sparkling reflections. I could see cars rolling on the streets, minuscule people strolling past buildings that were just opening; behind the glass, it was a silent world. The glass itself was so clean I thought I'd walk straight through it and surely fall down. In fact, the only blemish I could see was my solitary reflec-

_Gold._

I blinked, and the color faded. That was... it was impossible. I would've heard someone else come in. But I could've sworn that for a second, there was a person standing next to me.

Turning to the left, my eyes only confirmed what I thought: no one was there. Just an empty room.

_If I didn't get some rest soon, I was gonna fall off my feet._

I didn't exactly like the idea of sleeping in the middle of the day. It threw off my rhythm; but then again, it's not like I was doing myself any favors by drinking coffee at three in the morning and refusing to go to bed before midnight.

So I trudged to the elevators and pulled myself along until I got to my room, where I promised myself I'd take a shower and then find a book to read in the corner for a couple hours until lunch.

Instead, I promptly collapsed on the bed.

At that point, I would've probably cursed my weak-willed nature when it came to making plans and sticking to them, but I was kinda-sorta dead asleep by the time my brain said ' _No, Gale, your Circadian rhythm!'_

_'Gale.'_

_No, I don't want to wake up. I want to stay on this bed and sink into the mattress and never get up._

_'Gale, can-'_

_Go away, stupid nagging thought._

_'-hear me-'_

_I just want to **sleep**._

_'-wait, I've almost-'_

_**Go.** Leave me in **peace** , god dang it._

_'-there!'_

A loud popping sound broke the silence, making me groan. "Alright!" I called out loudly, still face down. "I'm gonna give you 'till the count of five to run, and then I'm going to make you wish you were never born."

There was an easy chuckle, and an unfamiliar voice spoke: "I have no doubt that you would pursue such action, Gale."

I jolted upright, rolled sideways, and abruptly fell to the floor with a loud _thud_.

"Oh," I groaned. "This day just does not like me."

Blinking my eyes open, the first thing I saw was a smooth marble floor, stretching out unbroken like a blanket of snow. Light from above gave it a golden sheen- not a bright, shimmering gold, but the soft kind you found with a brass lantern and a quiet evening indoors.

This wasn't my bedroom.

I shot to my feet, holding my arms out to steady me. Blood rushed to my head, making everything go fuzzy for a minute. "What the-"

"I apologize for taking so long," the same voice came again. "Believe me, were it within my power, I-"

"Jesus, where is this place?" I interrupted as soon as I got a look around.

I was standing in a huge ballroom, with a white marble floor and ornate walls. Golden fixtures splayed light through the room, illuminating every corner. Embellishments and carved designs were everywhere I looked- it was a scene from a movie, or a history book. It was breathtaking, and I would've stared at every inch if it hadn't unsettled me so much; although the room was grand, it was completely silent. The only sound I could hear was my breath.

"Well, I suppose you'd know," the voice said. "This is _your_ dream, afterall."

As if he'd simply sprung up from thin air, a man suddenly was there. He stood a while away, a good thirty feet or so, but in the thick silence, his voice carried like we were no more than an arm's reach apart.

The man was tall, taller than most people. His black hair swept back from his face and down to the shoulders of a green cloak, fastened with gold. An odd type of- armor, or some Medieval recreation- fitted him, all in greens, golds, and dark leather black-browns. It seemed fancier, somehow, like it was designed for events a ballroom such as this one would hold.

He stared at me, head tilted slightly to the left, like my reaction was less than desirable. "I have no clue as to how much time has passed," the stranger began slowly. "But surely-"

"Who are you?" I demanded, arms crossed. The movement bunched my clothes, which- _curse my subconscious-_ had evaporated into a long black dress that, against the pale marble, pooled out like a slow wink from an impossibly black void. _Black dress and a dance_ , a memory whispered. _It was beautiful._

Confusion rippled on the man's face. "Gale, you must be joking."

"I don't know you!" I threw my hands up in the still air, but paused as a thought occurred to me. "Wait, this is a dream. Of _course_ I don't know you; you don't exist."

A wrinkle appeared deep on his forehead. "Yes, this is a dream, but I am _very_ much real."

"Yeah, yeah," I said dismissively, turning around in a circle to take in more of the ballroom. "I... I think I've seen this before. A couple of nights ago, maybe. There was a party..." I trailed off as if, summoned by my recollection, the faintest image of people in dresses and suits flashed against the walls, whirling around like a silent motion picture. They quickly faded, leaving only a trace of color and laughter behind. "I was older. I was... _happy_."

" _Gale_."

I turned back around to find the man had suddenly appeared closer to me. This close, I could see his perplexed expression- it seemed real enough, at least for a figment of my imagination.

"Don't you... remember me?" He asked quietly.

I laughed at that. "Honey, as part of my head you shoulda gotten the memo: We jumped aboard the Amnesia Train a while ago."

The man's face fell in a heartbeat. "I thought it was a miracle," he muttered, still taking in the sight of me. "No one fights a god and walks away unscathed. But to rightfully win and yet forget everything..."

"I didn't forget _everything_." I rolled my eyes. "Just the last year, give or take."

"You don't remember me." He repeated. Then a seam of anger flickered on his face just long enough for me to notice. "Ullr's witch work. That dishonorable coward- I should've known he'd do anything to have the last word."

"Ullr?" The name tasted like iron in my mouth. "He-"

"Poses no threat," the stranger was quick to reassure me, holding out a hand in a pacifying gesture. "He won't hurt you again. In fact, we have adjoining cells. You'll be pleased to know I always take the opportunity to mock his devastating loss."

"Cells." I raised an eyebrow. "Look, bean-stalk-"

" _Bean-stalk?_ "

"- I just wanted to get some sleep. And now I'm having this crazy lucid dream, so when I wake up I'm not gonna feel rested at all." Rubbing my forehead, I sighed. "I've got enough right now, with trying to remember things I _can't_ for some reason, and the stupid scars-"

"Scars? Where?" The man immediately took a step forward and reached out.

Without flinching, I leaned back and worked a razor sharp snippet of air between my fingers. It flashed silver in my hand as I pointed it at the stranger. "That's far enough, buddy," I warned him.

But he had a grudgingly praiseful grin on his face. "A knife?" He asked, amused. "I see I've left my impression. But, Gale, whether or not you believe the truth- that I am a real person- or not, I cannot hurt you. This is _your_ dream, isn't it?" 

Eyeing him warily, I let the tiny breeze dissipate. "Continue."

Slowly, as to not alarm me, the man extended his hand, and took mine in his. He turned my arm over, examining the skin. "You said scars," he murmured. "But the marks only appear when it's cold, so..."

His fingers pulsed blue for a second, and a numbing chill raced through my arm. The pale lines that echoed my wind marks, the scars that had faded near gone but not all the way, were cast into light. They traced up and down that arm, a map of spiderwebs that would never completely leave. A trophy of a victory I didn't remember.

"Who are you?" I asked again, this time much quieter. 

He spared a brief glance up to meet my eyes, then looked back to my arm. "We met in Asgard," he finally answered. "Only for a couple days. I helped you prepare for the fight."

"That's not a name."

The corners of his mouth tightened. "Loki," he said bluntly. 

An image flickered in my head: an old book my parents would take down from the shelf for me to read, one with thick letters and pictures of a bridge hammered from rainbows, of an eight-legged horse, of a hammer that commanded thunder. "God of Mischief," I finished. "I read about you. Hey- aren't you supposed to be evil or something?"

A sigh of exasperation escaped him. "Yes," he shot back with the air of someone who's heard that a million times before. "I'm 'evil or something'."

"Geez, dude, don't take it out on me." I narrowed my eyes, studying him. "So we really do know each other?"

Loki hummed shortly in reply. He stepped back, letting my arm fall. "After your match with Ullr, you were... wind-drunk."

"Yup, remember that. Not fun."

"The cost of so much power running through you, it- you collapsed, after you shut it off. It was hurting your body, you wouldn't wake up- even my magic couldn't alleviate the effects." Loki's hand was tapping against his leg, fluttering a pattern. "I was taken back before anything else happened. I didn't know if you'd survived or... just laid there."

I took in a deep breath, the black dress rippling with the motion. "Well, I'm alive. Albeit with a significant lack of memory, but I'm still kicking."

Loki's face was pulled in a frown, but it wasn't aimed at me. "I tried to make contact with any of you, but cross-realm communication is a feat that few accomplish. Never mind the fact that the king doesn't exactly _condone_ the use of my abilities."

"Wait." My mouth opened slightly in realization as my head caught up to what he was saying. "You mean the green flashes I saw, the other reflection in the window, that was you?"

He shrugged easily, gathering back his indifferent demeanor. "Attempts of mine, yes. Dreams, however, are much easier to access than reality."

"Okay, okay." I held up my hands. "Let's take a timeout. This is kinda a _lot_ to take in." Thoughts raced through my head. I tried to organize them into something remotely rational, but alas, I am not all powerful. "So we're sorta buddy-buddy," I began slowly. "You and I both have beef with that butt-lick named Ullr. We fight, I win, I pass out- and what, you get shipped back to prison?"

Loki gave me an exasperated look. "That _is_ what they tend to do with prisoners, _mista ince_."

"Watch your attitude, _halla lai_. Don't make me burn your eyebrows off," I fired back. "So if you wanted to check in on me, why didn't you just ask? I'm sure Barton would've worked something out with SHIELD."

At that, Loki appeared befuddled. "They don't give prisoners communication rights, _alako_."

"Yeah, you mentioned that already." I huffed impatiently. "I'm asking why you couldn't just ask for a direct line to here."

Loki was still frowning as if there was a huge disconnect between what we were telling each other. _Something was wrong,_ that little nagging voice went, just as the man opened his mouth to speak again. "Gale, _they don't give prisoners communication rights_ ," he repeated, much slower.

"No, I get that!" I raised my voice in frustration. "I don't understand-"

"Not for me." Something changed in his face- a heavy realization that weighed on the wrinkles by his eyes. _Something was terribly wrong_.

"Loki, I-"

"For _you_." 

**_Thud_**.

A single heartbeat dropped like a stone in my gut, making my body shudder.

"No," I whispered back. "I'm not- SHIELD wouldn't- I'm here because I _chose_ to."

The frown evened out on Loki's face, replaced by a sickening understanding. "Gale, you said you remember nothing-"

"-I would remember _that_ -"

"-I'm sorry, but when we spoke-"

"- that's impossible-"

"-you told me you had no say in the matter-"

"-shut up, just shut up-"

"-I don't know who told you otherwise, but-"

"SHUT UP!" I screamed at him.

The dress snapped out around me as a ring of fierce wind exploded into the room. Darts of silver wormed their way from my skin to the air, rushing to my palms and shooting from my fingers. For a terrifying moment, the ballroom lurched into black and white before clicking back to color.

Loki's hands flickered green. The shade leeched into space like mist, specked with gold like metal embers. "Gale," he said heavily. "I'm truly sorry."

"They wouldn't do that to me," I spat at him. "I trusted them. I _trusted_ -" My voice broke off, even more unsteady than I felt on my feet.

"If I'd known, I would've done something- _anything_ ," Loki continued. "But I see whatever good you found in that tower has been..."

"He lied?" My voice broke at the very end. "Barton... lied?"

A new glint appeared in his eyes- determined, sharp, and more than a bit untrustworthy. "However," he started. "There is _one_ thing I can attempt-"

Before I could jerk away, Loki reached out once more, his sleeve trailing green sparks, and pressed a finger against my forehead. Everything flashed gold- _brilliant, undying, heart of a thriving sun gold_ \- and then-

~~~

_I had made my home in the backstreet right here. Two empty dumpsters had been left here, each one turned on its side. I pushed the bins together, and presto._

_That tree that the little boy had fallen from on Friday was swarming with people. Most of them were in black suits, putting paramedics and normal old folks out of the question._

_"Girl! Get down on your knees with your hands above your head!" The person ordered._

_"You're making a mistake," I said loudly, not moving._

_"Get down on the ground!" Hill shouted._

_"This could end up very bad for you and your men!" I shot back, refusing to follow their commands._

_"We will open fire! Last warning!"_   
  


  
  


_WHAM!  
  
Something ran into me at full speed, hitting me right in the ribs. For a millisecond I was confused. It wasn't a bullet, it felt like something was sticking out of me, like a-_

  
  
_"This is the gifted individual?" A man with short brown hair and a small beard scoffed as he took in my appearance._

_"Tony Stark, billionaire and former CEO of Stark Industries, also known as Iron Man. You were one of the people who flew around in costumes at the Battle of New York, and the one that let a group of Chitauri slip into Brooklyn," I narrated dryly as Romanoff parked me right next the the head of the table._

_"What? No, nothing got past me. There would have been-" Stark tried to deny it._

_"A warning, chaos, people dying?" I interrupted. "I took care of it for you, by the way. You're welcome."_

  
  


  
_"Welcome to Stark Industries, Miss Gale."_

_I shook the offered hand. "Thank you, Mr. Stark." Savoring the looks on everyone else's faces, I held out my arms to Agent Romanoff. "Ahem. Cuffs."_

_"Well, if it isn't my favorite person in the entire universe," I grumbled as I recognized Agent Barton from that SHIELD place. Wheeling myself up a ramp, I approached their little group. A stack of ten or so pizza boxes was piled on a table in the middle of some couches, next to a handful of liter bottles of soda._

_"Well, if it isn't my favorite person in the entire universe," Barton mocked in a whiny voice._

_"How old were you when you pulled the trigger?"_

_Romanoff stopped moving, and her expression became guarded._

_"You said you were an assassin, and that you were recruited by a 'special agency'. How old were you when you killed for the first time?"_

_"I was only a kid. Much younger than you." Romanoff answered quietly._

_"Now there's the trust," I leaned back. "Killer's code, right?"_

_"Wait...today?" I looked up at Stark for confirmation. He nodded and shrugged._

_"I guess you heal faster than us 'normal' humans."_

_Romanoff looked between us. "What's going on?"_

_I turned to her in excitement. "My cast! I'm getting it off!"_

_"You want to see volatile?" My bones hummed as the wind gathered strength. I saw it, shimmering, winding through the air around me, a shade that couldn't be called a color but something that was just out of reach, just on the tip of my tongue._

_Fly with me, an east wind whispered in my ear. I can set you free, the south breeze hissed. Leave this world behind, a west draft breathed, circling behind me. We will never be afraid again, the hint of a north tempest promised._

_"I'll show you volatile," I hissed aloud, my voice merging with the winds._

_"If you think I'm dirty, first wash your own hands clean," I began to quietly sing under my breath, staring at the hagalaz. "Don't call me bad if you don't know just how wicked I can be."_

_Potatoes._

_Every. Single. Freaking. Day._

_"Hm. So you do know your sayings," I said aloud, voicing my thoughts._

_"And you're Russian," Romanoff said calmly._

_"If you'll follow me, both of you," Fury began walking towards the hallway._

_"Why both of us?" Barton frowned. But he got up from his seat regardless, and I was already following Fury._

_"Because I'm making you her observation detail, Barton," Fury said._

_"And... that is why I'm here." Barton commented. "So stuff like this doesn't happen around other people."_

_"That's a punching bag!" I pointed down at the floor. "Not an elderly grandma!"_

_"Next time it might be," Barton shot back._

_"BARTON!"_

_"Sheesh, fine, I'll help you down, you homeless kitten stuck up in a high place. Does this make me the fire department?"_

_"I DO NOT NEED ANY HELP!"_

_"I should have Tony make badges for us: AVENGERS, fighting crime and saving helpless strays."_

_"SHOVE THOSE BADGES UP YOUR BUTTS, WHY DON'T YOU!"_

_I groaned and threw my head back. "Humans. Blind as naked mole rats. Never seeing what's right in front of them."_

_Barton crossed his arms. "Are you going to keep insulting me? Because I took you to the roof. Technically, I can shove you back in the tower with sullying my crystal clear conscious."_

_I rolled my eyes, and sat down cross legged on the gravel, a bit away from the edge. "It's a ley line, stupid. This tower is built right on the center of a ley line."_

_"A what?" Barton said, bewildered._

_I squinted up at him. "Do they teach you anything useful at SHIELD?"_

_I chuckled. "You've got no clue, Pigeonbutt."_

_"Hawkeye," Barton glared at me. "Hawkeye."_

_"Sure thing, Penguinfart."_

_I shrugged offhandedly. "I'm not saying it'll definitely make a difference, facing your fear. Maybe that's just a phrase told to children to get them to sleep peacefully in the middle of a storm. But storms are as quick and as sharp as steel, and if you're tied to them, moaning about the cold won't warm your bones."_

_Dr. Banner's mouth hung a bit open in shock._

_"Sleep well, doctor," I told him, and turned my back to him._

_"I hate you, pipsqueak."_

_"Hate you too, Birdbrain."_

_And then the image of fire flashed on the back of my eyelids, and then I saw Mama burning and covered in her fire and the smell was suddenly filling the room-_

_My body stiffened, muscles coiling as tense as a bow-string. I began to push myself away from whoever was holding me, but they wouldn't let go._

_"Alright, Gale, just breathe," they said. "It's okay. You're not dreaming anymore, you're okay, you're safe."_

_"Do you really have nightmares like that every night?"_

_"Not every night, no. But... once I get low, or sad, or stressed... sometimes a chain gets set in motion. I have to ride through the nightmares before they stop. They don't get easier, though. Each time the pattern repeats, they get worse. I barely made it through the last time. And now, with everything that's happened..."_

_As discreetly as I could, I stomped on Barton's foot, causing him to recoil back into Romanoff, who pushed him into Rogers._

_"Well, that worked better than I anticipated," I remarked casually._

_Thor turned to me with surprise in his eyes. I guess I was better at being invisible than I thought. Then Thor's face broke out into a gigantic smile, beaming down at me from all six feet and three inches of him._

_"Man of Iron! You and Lady Pepper of the Potts have conceived a child!" Thor said happily, and before I could even let out a good Russian curse, he took a big step forward and picked me up in a huge bear hug._

_"Hurry up, losers," I called loudly. "We're going to Asgard!"_

_"I do know that you are interesting people," Heimdall admitted. "And that your sense of fashion is somewhat lacking."_

_I let out a very undignified snort, followed by a bout of muffled giggles. "Heimdall, sir, you've become my second favorite Asgardian."_

_"I am deeply honored, Maiden Gale," Heimdall cracked a playful grin and gave me a nod._

_"Thor," I turned to the other god. "Can I just stay here? I can even be a stable boy or some demeaning thing. Just let me be here away from all the stupid humans."_

_"I already am familiar with your groups' deeds in Midgard," Odin replied. "Prince Thor speaks often of your bravery."_

_"He does?" Stark raised his eyebrows. Everybody stared at him for just blurting out. "I- sorry, I guess. Please don't execute me."_

_The Asgardians were giving us even weirder looks._

_"However," Odin broke through the quiet once more. "I was not alerted of the child."_

_A man was heading down the hall, a bit away from me. He was dressed in dark grey clothes- breeches, riding boots, tunic, and a leather vest. A quiver and a dark bow were slung over his shoulder, marking him as a hunter._

_He was tall, to say the least, with pure black hair cut shorter than would be expected of an Asgardian. Stubble was evident on his chin and face, and he carried himself with the sort of air you only get from being tried, tested, and succeeding._

_With a sudden jolt, I realized who it was._

_All I could think of were the books Mama read to me, with the leather covers stamped in gold, and the metal latches with iron keys, and the beautiful paintings inside of them that all showed a hunter riding through a snowy forest. The paintings that all had the dark-haired, dark-eyed god, with his ever present bow, and the same words written beneath each depiction._

_Ancestor Ullr._

_"They seriously gave you that to wear?" Barton snorted. "Did you punch the maid for giving you a dress?"_

_"Har har," I rolled my eyes. "I'll have you know that the woman was quite open to taking suggestions, and I even got this hemmed up in time."_

_"I'll bet," Barton sniggered. "The clothes here aren't fitted for children."_

_"I will stab you with a fork," I told him mildly._

_The wind-colored dress showed the tattoos._

_From a couple inches below my neck, all the way down my spine, were the inky black letters in the same language that decorated this palace. And at the top on either side, over my shoulder blades, were two wings as dark as night. Together, the black markings looked like a sword standing point down- the sword of a warrior awaiting their battle._

_"So I am here in Asgard, in front of my ancestor, and I have uttered the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I am Gale, of the Teneo, and I will no longer hide."_

_"I challenge you to a gurth coste!" Ullr grinned savagely, like a shark._

_Even Odin's eye went wide at that. "You cannot possibly-" the king spoke._

_"I challenge your legitimacy, Gale of the Teneo." Ullr repeated, no longer straining to close the distance between us and rip out my throat. "Do you accept?"_

_I shot the man a glare, but carefully stood up, my muscles creaking. Padding towards the bedroom, I passed by Barton, who made a slight step forward and with a moment of hesitation, gave me a light pat on the shoulder._

_"Sweet dreams, featherweight," he muttered quietly, and went back to the balcony._

_"Really?" I crinkled my nose. "Then-" My face went slack with understanding. "That means you're... Loki."_

_"Yes, indeed." The god of lies set the book down on his lap and spread his arms in a grand gesture. "Impressed? Astounded? Overcome with awe?"_

_I made a face. "I thought you'd be more... handsome."_

_Loki paused, brief confusion flickering over his face. "Pardon?"_

_"I mean, Thor's got the whole chiseled jaw, crystal blue eyes, blond hair thing going on," I motioned to my own face. "You have the cheekbone, pale skin, dark-haired-beauty gig happening. Pretty, I guess. Not particularly handsome."_

_Loki._

_His hands that had been blocking the ice-cold wind were blue. A dull, frosty blue that was spreading rapidly up his arms and his neck. It coated his face, and pale ridges appeared on his chin, his cheeks, his forehead._

_Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I let the wind marks surface on my skin. They instantly began moving, swaying and shifting with the natural breezes that rustled through the courtyard. I felt my eyes grow cold, and knew that they were completely silver._

_Both of us stood there, skin marked by blue or silver, eyes a different color, and to the outside world, appearing as something less than human._

_"What?!" Stark near shouted, taking a couple paces forward so he was level with me, Rogers, and Ullr. "Clint was poisoned- I would be too if I'd taken a drink!"_

_"I am deeply saddened to hear of your friend's poor state of health." Ullr looked straight at me, eyes wide and innocent. "If there is anything I can do to be of assistance-"_

_"You son of a-" I nearly went for Ullr's throat again, but Rogers took a half-step towards me and gave me a warning glance._

_Rogers was still looking at me, but this time only with a sort of heavy understanding. "You only do what I say when I order you," he said quietly. "And then you do it without hesitating."_

_I fixed my eyes on the surface of the table, still upright in my seat. "It doesn't concern you, Rogers."_

_Rogers shook his head. "No, it does. Because it means that you were treated as a soldier. You're fifteen. Who would do that to a kid?"_

_I took the flowers, one by one, and placed them petals-up in the dirt, and then gently scooped the dirt back around the stems to hold them in place. I did this for every flower, making sure to give each one suitable growing room. When I was finished, I set the stones and pebbles I'd moved back around the patch of flowers and dirt in a neat circle._

_The two rocks that I'd selected now had markings on them, simple enough that they were cleanly made:_

_Dagaz and Mannaz._

_Day and Man. Hope and support._

_"These are for you," I whispered, not daring to speak louder and risk my voice cracking. "I thought the flowers were pretty. Like the ones in our garden, the ones that would stay bright even in the winter."_

_Mother and Father._

_The stones did not respond._

_A scarce moment later, the person popped out of it like a gopher, and the hole zoomed shut. I stared at them. From this close, I could see that their clothes were more than dirty, and torn along the seams in most places. And they were short. Like, short. Next to me short. They probably came up to my rib cage, and that's adding the mop of wiry hair._

_"Of course it's an Asgardian." The person scowled at me, crossing their- no, his- arms. If this wasn't a 'he', I was gonna be extremely confused, what with the beard and the perpetual frown._

_"Excuse me?"_

_"As-gar-di-an." The scruffy old man enunciated each syllable. "You know- your kind. How do I say this politely... stuck-up, arrogant twits who can't tell a blade from their backside?"_

_"I told you to make sure the airways weren't clogged up this morning!" Sindri continued, frantically looking for another bucket._

_"YEAH, WELL-"_

_"BUT YOU JUST HAD TO VISIT THE BARMAID FROM VANAHEIM-"_

_"YOU WOULD'VE SKIPPED WORK TOO IF YOU'D HAVE SEEN HER-"_

_"BUT I TOLD YOU-"_

_"I DON'T THINK THAT MATTERS RIGHT NOW-"_

_"NOW OUR ENTIRE FORGE IS GOING TO BLOW-"_

_"WE CAN FIX THIS-"_

_"IT WILL TAKE FOREVER TO GET THE SMELL OF SMOKE OUT-"_

_"IT'S NOT THAT BAD-"_

_Brokkr handed the gem back to me. "Purple is for vagrants," he said in an even tone._

_He frowned. "Whoa, serious face alert. What's up?"_

_"The- the guards," I muttered, not looking Barton in the eye. "I told them to leave you all alone that morning. That's why it took so long for Stark to get help. If I hadn't done that, then it might never've-"_

_"Stop. Hold it right there." Barton stepped forward so he was in front of me. He put a hand on my shoulder and leaned down slightly so the height difference wasn't too bad. "Kid, that wasn't your fault. It's Ullr's. You never poisoned me- he did. You got nothing to apologize for, pipsqueak."_

_"Yeah, but-"_

_"No 'yeah but's, you hear me?" Barton said firmly. "You're good."_

_Someone knocked on the door, and without waiting for an answer, pushed it open._

_Rogers, Stark, and Romanoff were standing there with serious looks on their faces. Behind them was a group of guards, all standing at attention with their golden spears glinting in the light._

_The laughter in the room died._

_"It's time."_

~~~

The room was quiet. Sound traveled like honey, slow and thick, never getting where it needed to go in time but hanging in the air instead.

This time, the floor was empty. There was a single gold-and-cushion bench pressed up against the wall, the only piece of furniture in the endless ballroom that stretched out into hazy distance on either side. If a person strayed from the wall, they could wander on and on and never reach the other side.

"What are you going to do?" The other man asked softly.

With a gentle _clink_ , my head shook off the peculiar state of being lost in thought. "Hm?" I started. "I... I'm not sure."

With an exhale, Loki shifted back on the bench, eyes fixed straight ahead. "You could hide," he suggested. "But eventually the facade will crumble. You could run, but sooner or later you'll have to touch the ground, and when you do, the people you run from will catch up."

"I don't want to lie- to others or too myself." I shook my head. My hands lay in my lap, folded neatly against the black dress. Faint curls of mild silver breezes trickled from my palms and over my knees, spilling out onto the floor. Against the dark cloth, the wind looked like moonlight. "But I want to do _something_. To let this sit and fester... I can't bear the thought."

"Then make it count," Loki said simply, turning his head to fully face me. "For every time that this cruel world took something from you, for every time you have been and will be scorned, cheated, and cast aside, make it count. Go out and take it back. Take it all back."

I glanced back at him. "That sounds remarkably like revenge."

"You assume I think you care about how it seems," he replied. "And you don't, because I wouldn't."

A small frowned pulled together on my face. "I don't understand."

Another sigh, another shift beside me. Loki's finger traced the lines of gold on his pants. "Gale," he began, quiet but self-assured, "I do believe that both of us, under different circumstances, could have turned out very much like the other."

For a moment, every drop of sound hung in the air, like rain drops in a spider's web. Neither of us spoke after that, opting to gaze out at the empty ballroom, heads full of silence and the pleasant sensation of not thinking about anything. 

"Everything is so peaceful," I whispered aloud; it didn't seem right to raise my voice. "I wish I could stay."

"But you can't," he reasoned, the words tainted with the brand of bitterness that only logic contained. "And neither can I." His eyes flickered over to me again. "I don't think this is the last we'll see of each other, Gale."

"No," I admitted, "but it'll never be like this. Not here."

"As always," he said with the faintest of smiles. "You are undeniably clever."

"Nothing lasts." There was a cold twinge- I looked down at my hands. The grey wind and black dress were blurring into my hands, leeching the color from them. "Nothing ever can, can it?"

I turned to look at Loki, and saw him watching heavily as the pigment faded from my skin. "No," he softly agreed. "It can't."

All around, the golden light was turning grey, and splashing mercury all over the floor. Like ink, it ran down the walls, staining everything it touched a gentle shade of silver. None of it was alarming. It was simply... _quiet_. 

Once again, I glanced back at Loki just in time to see his green eyes turn grey. He took in a breath, opened his mouth, and-

_E_

_v_

_e_

_r_

_y_

_t_

_h_

_i_

_n_

_g_

_w_

_a_

_s_

_g_

_r_

_e_

_y_

When I opened my eyes, the sun was still up. Only a couple of hours had passed.

Everything was... normal. As it was when I fall asleep. But now, now there was only one thought in my head. One single thing that drowned out the hum of the vents, the smell of warm laundry, the soft sheets beneath me.

_"BARTON!"_

Translations (everything is in Erui Lammen, unless stated otherwise):

mista ince: either 'grey bird' or 'small grey', can be taken as a 'midget' insult

alako: wild wind or flight (descriptive nickname)


	39. Of all the things to bring us here

People used to tell me that I acted like my mother. Back then, I suppose it was an easy assumption to make. She and I both had the same sort of walk, we spent our time outdoors more often than in, and our laughter was always a few notes reach within each other's.

Personally, I knew they were wrong. Sure, my mother taught me how to appreciate the beautiful things, how to get out of my own head, how to recognize courage and how to find it- but when it came down to the bones of it, I think I had far more of my father in me.

I was simple but often blunt, quiet but always with the last word on my tongue, passive until angered- and then, God help you if you stood in my way.

So yes, when I was little, I knew I would turn out just like my father. Until, that is, someone changed the course of three lives in a big house, in the middle of the night. Until that moment in time, I had no doubt that I would exist in the same place in the world as he did.

But like I said before, Papa and I were quiet, simple people- until you crossed a line. Then all bets were off... just like they were now.

_"BARTON!"_

My feet pounded down the hallway, the only thing louder than the deafening heartbeat in my ears. The air around my skin was burning cold; it smelled sharply of a thunderstorm, with an electric charge hovering ominously in the empty space.

Have you ever drawn a bath, and the water was so hot that you shivered as if it was freezing? Most anger runs scalding, but mine ran ice-cold, as bone chilling as that water ran. My stomach was boiling something fierce- it twisted and curled with every step I took. With each pulse, heat ripped through my veins. I couldn't remember the last time I was this _furious_.

The hallway was in muted colors; it flickered to grey and silver with ease. My eyes had gone mercury by now, but I don't recall the moment they changed. At this point, I wasn't exactly thinking clearly.

Up ahead, the hall emptied into the main room. I heard voices up ahead that hissed in my ears, far too similar to the wind. Silver was replacing the scars on my skin, tracing them like the air was sliding a paintbrush or a knife along the lines.

I burst out into the room, every breeze in the large space immediately working into a frenzy in my presence. _Wrongdoings_ , they whispered. _They deserve retribution_.

Barton was leaning against the backs of the couches, staring down at his phone. "Hey, so Tony's gonna be back any minute- he just closed this huge deal with some Russian dude," he remarked. When I didn't reply, his head bobbed up and he saw me, marching towards me with silver sparks flying from my fists. "Kid?" Barton asked, a frown appearing on his forehead. "What's-"

I drew back one fist and punched him as hard as I could.

Under any other circumstance, Barton would've dodged quicker than I could blink. But I had the element of surprise, and consequentially, the man stumbled back, hands flying up to his face.

"YOU LIED!" I shouted at Barton, ignoring his bewilderment. "YOU LIED _TO_ _MY FACE!_ "

Barton's face was drawn in uncertainty- _the audacity of his confusion_ \- as he stared at me. "Gale, what the h-"

"I TRUSTED YOU!" My throat burned, but there was no way I could say everything on my mind and _not_ scream.

Barton frowned, confusion written openly on his face. “Gale, what did I do?”

That pushed it past the breaking point.

Like water bursting through a dam, iron-gray wind shrieked into existence. It howled as it whipped in circle, tethered to me in the center. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was dangerously close to losing whatever control I retained. But my head was overflowing with memories, each clamoring for attention as they flashed bright sounds and colors, one after the other in a never-ceasing stream that threatened to spill past the brim.

"I REMEMBER!" I roared, and his facade cracked.

The moment my words reached his ears, every scrap of color drained from Barton’s face. "What?" He whispered, barely audible.

A bitter laugh escaped me, turning grey as soon as it hit the air. "I _remember_ ," I spat at him. "I remember _everything_."

"You mean-"

The anger in my gut coiled and lashed out once more, bright and hot like steel in a furnace. "EVERYTHING!" I shouted, face contorted in anger. "I REMEMBER _EXACTLY_ WHY I'M HERE!"

Overhead, JARVIS was saying something, but it faded into white noise in my head. Barton slowly brought his hands up, holding them out in a gesture of peace. "Gale, I never meant-"

"You never meant to _what_?!" I cut across, fists clenching tighter and tighter. "I trusted you, B. I _let_ myself trust you. And then you... you _lied_."

Barton shook his head, never breaking eye contact. "I didn't want to lie- you have to-"

"Believe you?" I scoffed, throwing my hands up in the air. Flashes of silver curled around my fingers, tracing the _hagalaz_. "B, I remember you being kind. Being a _friend_."

Staring at Barton, I shook my head, eyes narrowed. “But I remember how the Helecarrier smelled. Like metal and disinfectant. It was _sterile_ , never intended to hold a living being. And that _thing_ you locked me up in? That excuse of a cage? Did you really expect me not to know it was made to crush the fight out of me? Or was shooting me out of the sky supposed to do the job?”

Barton took a step towards me, hands still raised non-threateningly. “Gale, just give me a minute and I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“Don’t come another step closer,” I warned him in a dangerously low tone. But he obviously thought I was uncertain instead of unstable, because he started forward again with all the confidence he possessed.

I didn’t even think about it. I flung my hand out, and it was like I’d opened a door to a hurricane. With newfound purpose, the iron-gray wind let out a howl and careened toward Barton with all the force of a freight train.

He slammed to the ground with a crash, hitting the floor hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Barton rolled onto his back, wheezing as he tried to pull air into his lungs.

“After all that, I put my _faith_ in you!” I growled, glaring down at the man. “But I guess that wasn’t enough for you. No, you wanted a clean slate, a ‘Start Over’ button so you could mold me into SHIELD’s perfect little _enhanced._ So when I conveniently lost my memories, the first thing you did was lie. You all but jumped at the opportunity, B." There was a painfully tight feeling in my chest as I corrected myself. " _Agent Barton_."

Behind me, I heard footsteps running towards the room. I didn't even flinch- I just stared at Barton, who had pulled himself to his feet but held one hand against his ribs, as if they ached. There was a bruise forming on his jaw, a dark red patch that gave me a vicious sense of satisfaction.

"Guys?" Rogers' voice echoed from the stairs leading to the rest of this floor. "What's going on?" He asked cautiously, and I watched him slowly move into the edges of my vision.

"I remember," I said sharply, eyes never wavering from Barton's figure.

Rogers' surprise was palpable. "You mean..." He trailed off, unsure.

"I remember," I repeated, "and I know that _he lied_."

"Kid, you were happy thinking you chose this," Barton tried to defend himself desperately. In his eyes, there something akin to regret- but I couldn't trust that it was; I'd been fooled once, and Lord knows I was a quick learner. "You were so much _lighter_ -"

"Don't." I interrupted him, holding up a hand. My fingers and palms were completely grey, the disgustingly human color leeched dry. "Don't even bother. Just _don't_."

The anger I'd felt had gone from boiling to stone-cold in a matter of seconds. It had melted over my lungs and heart, and with all this wind pushing through my skin, had cooled and hardened to steel. It still burned, of course it did, but with all the contained fury of a sun compressed into a card box.

"Gale, please, just listen-" Barton made one last attempt, but the silver gleam in my eyes stopped him in his tracks.

"I called you _athumo_. Do you remember?" I glared at him, tone as cold as ice. “I gave you the word for someone I could rely on, someone who would help me, not harm me. But I know the real name for someone like you.”

It was like Barton knew what was coming; defeat was written in his features deeper than it could've been etched in stone. " _Please_ , Gale. I just wanted you to be happy here-"

"You're _naikesse_ _i alm_ ," I uttered, the words tasting like metal. "A knife in the back."

And right there, that was when Barton’s last defense left him. He opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. The steel-hard remnants of anger kept me from taking my own words back; even if I wanted to, the damage had been done.

" _Coward_ ," I said harshly- a final parting shot. Without a backwards glance, I marched past Barton, who did nothing to stop me.

Thanks to my wonderfully restored _memories_ , I remembered the oh-so-tiny fact that I was under house arrest. Meaning if I wanted to blow off steam, I had to do it indoors- which basically defeated the purpose of letting my anger simmer down in the first place.

Behind me, I heard Rogers move towards Barton. They struck up a low conversation, and it took every scrap of self-control to not wheel back around and tell them that they could say whatever they were thinking about me to my face. Instead, I stayed on a direct course to the main elevators.

As I got farther and farther across the room- and from that _idiot_ and his friend- I heard someone else moving through the side corridor. Despite my _definitely_ -still-ticked-off-ness, it struck me as strange; that way led to the rest of the Tower, and the only people who ever used that to come and go were Pepper (Jeez, Pepper- she was going to go on a rampage as soon as she found out about this whole ordeal).

“…you know, since this is opening up doors for both of us,” Stark’s voice echoed along with the soft clicking of his shoes. “Normally, I don’t invite people for drinks afterwards, but this obviously warrants an exception.”

“Believe me, I’m not completely against the idea,” came a different voice, as congenial as Stark’s but a bit lower.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Stark remarked. “Hey, you wanna see the best view of New York while you’re here? I’ve got this _magnificent_ party room with a skyline to die for…” 

Looking back on it, I should’ve ran the second I heard voices. I should’ve sprinted as fast as I could from the approaching men instead of marching toward them. The only logical defense I’ve found was that my head was so full of anger that I couldn’t possibly think clearly. If I was, then I would’ve recognized that voice.

But I didn’t.

I was almost at the far end of the room when Stark and his guest rounded the corner. The billionaire was gesturing to the ceiling, rambling about the patents he was waiting for and the size of the parties he threw in the mean time. And the stranger, as he came into view he was gazing upwards; so neither of the men noticed me or Barton and Rogers in that moment.

But, good Lord, that moment turned to iron and crashed through the air. Everything lurched to a halt. The anger in my head suddenly dropped away into mist, leaving a deathly silence in its place.

_No_ , a single thought whispered. _Please. Not after all this. I can’t do this now_

_I can’t do this._

“Took a while to get the customized features right,” Stark was boasting. “But of course, when you’re a genius you never wait for long.”

The blond man- _anyone but him, I’m begging you_ \- smiled. “I admire how you never left a stone unturned,” he commented. “So many people are content to let the details slide. But I’ve always believed that the more effort a person puts into their projects, the more… _intelligent_ they are.”

“Careful, someone might take offense,” Stark snorted. His eyes fell on me, just standing there, as pale and motionless as a ghost. Before I could stop him-if I could’ve even made a sound- Stark turned back to his guest. “Here, let me introduce you to one of our newest inhabitants.”

The man’s blue eyes flickered to my face and locked there. _I’ll do anything, let it be anyone else, please just don’t make me go through this again._ Recognition was dawning on his face as Stark said, “She’s got a, um, _special_ skill set. This is-”

“Gale.”

Konstantin broke out into a grin as he finished Stark’s sentence.

_I can’t do this_ , I thought. _I can’t move_.

Stark’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Whoa whoa whoa,” he held out his hands in a ‘time-out’ sign, “wait a second- you two know each other?”

My feet were rooted to the spot as Konstantin spanned the gap between us with a few strides. Before I knew it, his arms were wrapped around me in a tight hug, one I knew from experience was impossible to escape from.

“Of all the possibilities in this world,” he murmured. _I can hear the smile in his voice._ “The chance that you would be right here, right now… it’s nothing short of fate.”

Barton called out from behind me, but I couldn’t even feel the slightest trace of fury through the shock. “Tony, who in the name of all things holy is this?”

Konstantin took a step back but kept his gaze on me. I could practically see the gears whirling in his head, taking in every shadow of every detail and turning it over again and again. “I must thank you, Mr. Stark,” he said calmly. “If I’d known you had Gale locked away in this tower of yours, I would’ve signed any paper to come here.”

_Leave. Someone make him leave. Or I will. As soon as I can move my feet._

Rogers, who had been carefully quiet up until now, shifted his stance. “That doesn’t sound like a name,” he said, the warning in his voice more than evident.

Konstantin’s blue eyes switched to meet the soldier’s for a beat. “Captain, how lovely to make your acquaintance. Our history books, though more thorough than yours, don’t do you justice in your chapter. I was greatly disappointed to learn you weren’t one of us.”

“One of…” Barton’s words dropped off as suddenly as my anger had. When he spoke again, he sounded more startled than suspicious. “You’re… like her.”

Konstantin let out a breath, and above the collar of his suit, the edge of a white-blue curl peeked through his skin. It rose and fell from view, like the crest of a passing wave. “Once again,” he flashed another smile, “Words cannot express how truly grateful I am.”

_He’s here. This is happening._

 _“_ Gale,” Rogers called out. “Who is he?”

_I can’t do this._

But Konstantin simply tilted his head, observing me. _And I still couldn’t move_. “Thank you, Mr. Stark, all of you.” He nodded at three men present, a genuine grin on his face all the while. “For bringing my child back safely to me.”


	40. Hell is empty

Author's Note: Just in case you lovely readers thought _his_ appearance was sudden.... I've been foreshadowing his arrival since CHAPTER NINETEEN. Check if you don't believe me, but just 'ctrl+f' each chapter since then and look for the vague mention of Tony and a Russian businessman...

>: )

ehehehehehehe _hehehehehe_

AND SOMEONE MADE A TRAILER FOR THIS STORY

Full credit for the creation and editing of the video goes to [Fandoms All Week Folks](https://www.quotev.com/FandomsAllWeekFolks)\- they're a wonderful gift to humanity, God bless you kind soul. Here's the link to it: [Gale Of The Teneo- Trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmZPTy3lY1k). Enjoy it, worship it, let the creator know how magical they are.

And with that, buckle your seat belts. Y'aint getting off easy on this chapter.

"Gale," Konstantin repeated my name as if it solidified my presence. "My goodness, you're grown." A breath escaped him, just short of a chuckle. "I knew you'd be tall when you got older, but..."

_This is happening_ , my mind murmured. _I can't run from this. He's here._

 _He's **here**_.

"Stop right this second!" Stark marched in between me and Konstantin, hands held out to either side. "We're not having a family reunion until I figure out what's going on!"

Warmth tingled at my fingertips; I looked down to find the grey color receding, sinking back into my blood. The heat made my skin itch- the sensation buzzed in the far corner of my head, growing stronger and stronger with each passing second until it burned through the fog.

I blinked- once, twice- and it was like time had never frozen in the first place.

"Why-" My voice rasped, drier than air. Sucking in a breath, I tried to speak again before I lost whatever nerve I had. "Why... _how_ are you..."

At the sound of my voice, Konstantin's lips quirked upwards. He didn't wait for me to finish my sentence. "We can speak on that matter at length, Gale, _after_ I get another good look at you." Pale blue eyes traced my cheekbones, the line of my nose, the edge of my jaw. " _Man aen_ , you're the spitting image of Ruslan."

Something sharp twisted in my chest, sharper than Konstantin's winds. "I thought..." I whispered, still unable to complete the simplest of phrases.

Konstantin nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "That you'd never see me again," he finished- _he always knew what I was thinking_. "I do believe that message was clear when you bought a one-way boat ticket and left without so much as a goodbye."

"Is nobody listening to me?" Stark cut in. "Am I just ornamental? Steve, Clint, back me up."

But Konstantin cleared his throat, looking around expectantly at each face around the room. "Of course, Mr. Stark. Shall we continue this conversation in a more comfortable setting?" He asked rather redundantly. His focus switched back to me, as piercing as the beam of lighthouse in the fog. "Gale? Would you like to lead the way?"

Even though my nerves were all but screaming at me to get out of the room, to find some place far away from all of this, the chaos fell quiet at Konstantin’s request. Without questioning it, my feet pulled themselves up from the floor, and I immediately walked to the cluster of couches sitting nearby.

I sunk down into the cushions, at the far end of one of the couches. Konstantin wasted no time in claiming an armchair, directly across the coffee table from me. He sat back, completely at ease. _And why shouldn’t he?_ a thought suggested. _He could be the end of every person in this room. Lord knows he’s been the end of mine_.

Footsteps clicked against the floor. Rogers quietly moved to the other end of my couch; Barton _\- wasn’t I supposed to be angry right now?_ \- took a spot as far from me as possible. Somehow, the gesture didn’t sting as bad in the

“So, Mister…” Rogers trailed off, looking to Konstantin.

“Vasiliev,” the blonde man offered with a dip of his head.

“Mr. Vasiliev,” Rogers repeated, and Konstantin seemed pleased to hear the affirmation. “So, you’re… Gale’s father.” Rogers reached forward with one hand, and Konstantin gracefully accepted it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Excuse me if I seem rude, but I didn’t know you were-”

“Alive?” Konstantin guessed. The two men settled back in their respective seats. “Oh, he’s not.”

A deep frown appeared on Rogers’ face, and he seemed to be regretting their friendly handshake. “I beg your pardon?”

Konstantin’s face split into a wide, toothy grin. “As much as I’d _love_ to be Gale’s father, the case happens to be otherwise. Ruslan- her biological father, you see- is unfortunately deceased.” The grin faded, revealing a somber expression. “Such a tragedy. The whole community was in uproar.”

“You don’t deserve to speak about him.” Before I could stop myself, the harsh words tumbled out. Konstantin’s head swiveled to me as I stared him in the eye. _Yes, I was supposed to be angry about something. Some_ ** _one_**. “You don’t deserve to say his name.”

Konstantin opened his mouth to respond– I was already regretting my words–

“If you’re not her father, then who are you? I mean, for all we know you’re secretly trying to kidnap Gale from under our noses.” Barton spoke up, tone low and dangerously bitter. _The bruise on his jaw looked like it hurt. Good._

"Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind," Konstantin remarked calmly, unfazed by the accusation.

_King Henry the Sixth._ My lips twitched- the words nearly fell out, but I pulled them back at the last second. Across the table, Konstantin’s eyes flickered toward me for a heartbeat, like he'd heard the realization regardless of my silence. Like he expected me to recognize the words. _Of course he did. He knew I knew them_.

Barton’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Ex- _cuse_ me?” He asked incredulously.

 _“_ Forgive me, I tend to have a flair for the dramatic.” Konstantin waved a hand (one that I watched _very_ carefully), dismissing Barton’s reaction. “Like I said before: Gale is my child.”

Stark scoffed. He was still standing, leaning against the back of the couch. “You said you didn’t have kids. At least, when you and I were talking.” He narrowed his eyes. “Was this all a set-up? Because I’m telling, you’re messing with the wrong person.”

“Mr. Stark, there’s no need for hostility,” Konstantin assured him, brushing a speck of lint off his shoulder. “I never lied to you. Well, besides omitting the part where I possess extraordinary abilities, the likes of which this world has never seen.” Konstantin paused for a second to let that sink in. “I do believe that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause _that’s_ not relevant,” Barton snorted. “So what can you do? Make sparkles come out your ears? Play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ on every instrument ever created?” He held up a finger, face frozen in mock surprise. “Ooh! I got it! _Rainbows_.”

Konstantin’s eyes narrowed at Barton, who raised his eyebrows, _clearly_ unaware of how monumentally stupid he was being right now. “And who, exactly,” Konstantin spoke carefully, “are you? Surely you must have _some_ purpose being here amongst heroes.”

Barton’s jaw clenched, and he was undoubtedly about to unleash a whole can of attitude when Rogers cleared his throat loudly, pulling the room’s attention away and avoiding a definite catastrophe. “My colleague has a point,” Rogers gestured to Barton, putting the slightest of emphasis on ‘colleague’. “We know Gale works with the wind-”

“Air.” Konstantin, like always, was quick to correct. _Always the first to move._ Noting the men’s confusion, he sighed and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I see Gale hasn’t explained everything to you. Not that she should- commendable, my dear, in your situation- but in this moment, it seems a brief lesson in terminology is required.”

“Wow.” Stark’s head bobbed up and down. “You really know how to make two words into ten, don’t you?”

Konstantin nodded in concession, but his eyes were tight at the corners. _A_ s _harp grin meant a sharp reply- if he wasn’t careful, Stark would get cut._ “Gale and I both work the same circle- circles, excuse me, are the most basic classification for our… legacies, as you call them. True to her name, Gale has an affinity for wind. Myself? I prefer smaller bits and breezes; precision has always been my forte. Both of our legacies fall into air- ergo, we share a circle.”

“Impressive way of avoiding the question,” Barton muttered, propping his chin on his hand. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled; if Barton didn’t watch his tone, he was going to get a lot more than a calm response.

I wasn’t the only one who felt the tension rising in the room. Stark’s hands gripped the back of the couch, knuckles turning white. “Clint, why don’t you go get Nat and Bruce?” The genius suggested, though there wasn’t much of an option implied. “I’m sure they’re wondering where everyone is.”

“Seriously? Am I the only one who doesn’t smell something fishy?” Barton threw his hands in the air, incredulous. “He’s a complete stranger who just _happens_ to know Gale!”

The muscles in Rogers’ shoulders were tense. “Clint,” he warned. “Take a breath-”

“That’s what we’ve been telling _her_ for the last three months!” Barton gestured to me; the sudden movement felt like a slap. “And _look at her!_ She hasn’t spoken a word since _he_ walked into the room!”

A lump formed in my throat as four sets of eyes focused on me. I refused to shift my gaze from the floor; every inch of me was screaming to stay still, to not make a move until my head could catch up with the rest of the room. My spine was rigid- I don’t think I could’ve shifted a centimeter even if I wanted to.

“Gale?” Rogers asked quietly. There was a soft touch on my shoulder-

_Just stay still. Don’t move. You know what can happen in a second. In **less** than a second, even._

“Why are you here?”

To my credit, my voice didn’t waver. If Konstantin had taught me anything, it was to never betray uneasiness- God forbid someone know I was scared. And across the table, I swear the ghost of a smile was teasing at Konstantin’s face; he knew exactly what I was thinking, and he was _proud_.

“Your memory has always served you well,” he wasted no time in replying, not surprised in the least at my sudden query. “But in case you need prompting… I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself and falls on the other.”

Barton’s nose scrunched up. “Sounds old and pretentious. Are you auditioning for the Society of Evil James Bond Villains?”

“Macbeth,” I interrupted, the streak of curiosity momentarily taking over my common sense. “He’s talking about ambition…” _The ambition needed to take over a kingdom._

The memory hit me as suddenly as Konstantin’s approving smile. I cursed silently as I realized that was exactly what he wanted from me: to fall into old patterns with him, acting how we used to act together. The mere thought of it made me nauseous; bile rose in my throat, as bitter as the memories themselves.

_Konstantin wanted power. Power came in many forms: physical strength, intelligence, wealth- but most importantly, influence. The ability to move people and therefore move the world. To whisper a word and have a city take it as law._

_Above all, Konstantin wanted an empire._

_“_ I don’t like being repetitive,” Konstantin continued, idly inspecting the back of one hand. “But I’m afraid that in order to satisfy your curiosity, I must return to an earlier point in our conversation. You asked me if Gale was my child, I said yes. You asked if I was her father, I said no. The truth of the matter is that although Gale’s _true_ parents are unfortunately deceased, I remain her legal guardian.”

A bright curl of anger flared up in my chest. “And despite the title, you never carried through,” I muttered under my breath before I could reign in my stupidity.

Konstantin’s head snapped towards me, eyes narrowed. “ _Mind your attitude_ ,” he flung back. “ _You’re not so much of a threat to me as you think.”_ His fingertips sparked pale blue, and the last vestiges of color drained from my face.

Part of me wanted to find something breakable and hurl it at his face. The other part- the more _sensible_ part- took the steering wheel and shoved the anger back down. _It’s not the time for that_ , a thought whispered. _You know it’ll only end badly if you don’t take a step back_.

It wasn’t until Stark cleared his throat rather loudly that I looked around, and saw the confusion on their faces. “Well, as fascinating as that was to hear,” Stark said in a cheerful tone. “I’d sure like to know: _a_ , what language that was; and _b_ , what my lying– sorry, _truth-withholding–_ business partner just said.”

A breath rushed out of my lungs; I couldn’t tell if it was from relief or not. _Erui Lammen_ , I realized. _He didn’t use English_.

“Once again, it’s obvious that Gale hasn’t shared the mechanics of her true nature with you.” Konstantin brushed a strand of wayward hair back behind his ear. The movement cast a trail of white-blue that faded in a blink.

“Her _true nature_?” Rogers repeated, sounding skeptical of the other man’s phrasing. “She’s a kid. What else could she possibly be?”

But Konstantin declined to answer, only allowing a tiny grin to escape him. “Well,” he said cheerfully, patting the armrests of his chair once. “This has been a lovely conversation, but I’d hate to wear out my welcome– and,” he added with a self-indulgent chuckle, “I think Gale’s got more to explain than she can possibly speak of in the rest of the day.”

Konstantin gracefully stood and smoothed out the front of his suit. Nodding at us on the couch, he gave a polite smile. “Gentlemen, Hyri.” And with a cool glance towards the remaining disgruntled figure. “ _Mister_ Barton.”

“Hey!” Barton leaped to his feet to block Konstantin’s path, scowling up at him. The latter simply looked amused– Barton was shorter by no less than four inches, and all the more aware of it. “You’re not going anywhere until _we_ say so. And with the way Gale’s been acting since you showed up, I think _you’re_ the one who’s gonna be explaining everything.”

Konstantin sighed, and turned his head to look at me. I nearly flinched, expecting another scathing retort, but when Konstantin spoke, it was in a much gentler tone. “Gale, my dear,” he said quietly. “Would you be so kind as to…”

I slowly rose to my feet, trying to keep my legs from shaking. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I focused on Barton’s chin instead of his accusing eyes. “It’s alright.” My voice was steadier than Konstantin’s, the product of years of practice. “He can go.”

With that, Konstantin raised his eyebrows expectantly. Barton looked like he’d rather saw off his own foot, but eventually stepped to the side. Konstantin began walking across the gleaming floor towards the elevators. “Oh, and don’t worry,” he called out without a backwards glance. “I think I know my way around this tower _quite_ well enough to find the exit.”

Konstantin entered the elevator at the far end of the room and turned around with a calm expression. But I swore his eye twitched at me in the barest of winks, right before the doors slid shut. And as suddenly as he’d appeared, Konstantin had vanished back into thin air.

It was as if the strings that held me upright had been cut in one swift movement. All the building tension dissipated like fog in the sun, leaving nothing for me to find solid footing on.

Nausea rose in my stomach again; for a moment I thought for sure I’d vomit all over my feet.

“Gale-” Rogers said, already halfway up from his seat. Concern was painted clear on his face; not pity, not suspicion, not even confusion. Just _concern_.

“No.” I interrupted. Before the man could take another breath, I pulled one foot in front of the other, and headed towards the stairs as fast as I could.

But Stark was one step ahead of me- literally. He grabbed my shoulder and redirected me to the kitchen. “Nope nope nope nope _nopity nope_ ,” he said as he hauled me across the room. “We are mature, responsible adults here, and we are going to _talk_ about what just happened, because in the _name of sweet-”_

 _“_ Get your hands off me!” I snapped back at him, but we were already through the threshold.

“Rogers!” Stark called out, all but pushing me into one of the chairs. “Get Natasha and Bruce. Barton-”

Barton, who’d just entered the kitchen, froze when Stark uttered his name. He stayed perfectly still, but his eyes flickered towards me. They locked for mine with a moment, and the too-familiar pang of anger bubbled up in my head.

_Lying, betraying, deceiving, **cheating son of a-**_

_“_ Try not to shoot anything, capiche?” Stark said humorlessly, and then plopped down in the seat directly across from me.

“I’ve got more pressing issues to deal with right now.” I shot him a glare, refusing to sit.

Stark gave me a deadpan expression. “Issues, yeah. Like, I dunno… the dude I just signed a contract with who apparently has a history with you? Take a seat, shorty. Like the man said: you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to them- though that was _completely_ valid. But they just didn’t get it; we didn’t have time– _I_ didn’t have time. At any moment, Konstantin could pop back up and decide I was one loose thread he didn’t want to manage.

“For the last time, I’m leaving!” My voice grew louder in anger, and I took one determined step towards the door.

Barton crossed his arms, still blocking the doorway with no clear intention to move. “If this situation as bad as you’re acting, then _all_ of us need to be on the same page.” He spoke in a low but clear tone, clipping the words off at the end.

“That’s rich, coming from you!” I hissed, pointing an accusatory finger at the man. “Do you even know hard it is for me to trust people? What am I saying, of course you do, you were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to _lie_ -”

“I’m not going to explain myself to you.” Barton glared back; it was the first sign of anger I’d seen from him yet. “We can discuss this after-”

“After what?!” I held my arms open wide, daring Barton to take a swing. “After I lose my memories _again_? After you shoot me out of the sky _again_? After-”

“ENOUGH!” Stark slammed his hands down on the table, the sound jarring me from my rant. The genius’s eyes were narrowed at the pair of us, jaw set. “If I have to get a repulsor gauntlet to keep you two civil, I will. Gale- _sit down_.”

For a handful of seconds, I simply stood there, staring a hole in the wall as I desperately tried to keep my outrage from taking the reins again. Finally, with hands clenched white-knuckled into fists, I muttered a venomous “Fine.” and yanked the chair out so I could sit.

When Rogers came back, leading Romanoff and Dr. Banner behind him, none of us three had moved. Barton moved stiffly towards the far wall, leaning back against it with his arms still crossed. There were a few cautious glances around the room, aimed especially at me. My forearms were resting on the table, hands neatly folded, but my body was as rigid as a board.

“Guys?” Romanoff asked, taking a seat at the table. “Steve told us about this shady dude, but there’s obviously another cause for the plentiful tension in the room. You wanna fill us in or….”

“I remember,” I said shortly, eyes rooted to my hands. “And before you ask: yes, that means everything that happened this year.”

“Gale, you mean to say that-” Dr. Banner started, sounding incredulous. “Hold up. No more than six hours ago, you couldn’t remember last _month_ , let alone who we were.”

“Long story short, I had a weird dream and poof!” I sarcastically wiggled my fingers before bringing them back down. “And what do I realize but the fact that I’m actually here against my will.”

Stark let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. “Okay, as much as I’d like to talk about _that_ part of today, we’ve got something else to work out.” I felt his eyes fall on me, making my skin itch just below the surface. “Kid? You wanna take over?”

_I trusted one of you_ , I wanted to tell him. _And look where that got me. So how can I possibly let my guard down?_

I didn’t reply.

Everything fell silent. There was another round of side-long glances between the adults. They either wanted to say something or didn’t know _what_ to say. Instead, the hum of the refrigerator leaked in the gaps of the room like fog, holding the moment captive in a shroud, until a single voice broke through.

“He called you Hyri,” Barton spoke up quietly, eyes fixed on the table. “That’s the word you told me earlier. _Hyriaith_. But you… you looked sick when I mentioned it.”

“Like I said before,” I said slowly. “It’s an old name.”

“It’s _his_ name.” Barton’s voice cut through the room without effort, stilling the already frozen atmosphere. “His nickname for you.”

My lungs sucked in a breath. The air tasted stale in the back of my throat; it only made what I had to say next harder to get out. “Konstantin is a psychopathic, manipulative monster. And he’s here.” The center of my chest grew heavy, as if with each passing word another ounce of my heart was turned to lead.

“What did he do to you?” Rogers asked from my right, a sickening understanding in his voice.

Bitterness struck my gut, cutting to the bone. “You don’t want to know.”

“Gale, _what did he do?”_

I slowly exhaled, letting every scrap of air leave my lungs. Only when I was absolutely sure there was no trace left of silver in my head, I opened my mouth.

“There’s no easy way to explain all of this,” I began slowly. “The story’s long, and as for the details… in the end, you’ll know what you need to know. Nothing more, nothing less.” I took another deep breath, mentally preparing myself for what came next. “I’m not sure when exactly he showed up. But it must’ve been when I was younger; I couldn’t have been more than seven…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_My parents had brought me to their office for the first time. I was pathetically overexcited at the prospect of seeing all the bookshelves and the fancy windows; I couldn’t sit still as they pulled the car into the lot, tires crunching over the gravel._

_The second the car stopped, I threw off my seat belt, flung the door open, and raced inside the massive stone building with my parents’ calls already fading behind me._

_Racing down the tiled floors, a giddy smile burst out across my face. The lamps were shining, the sunlight was streaming into the hall in patches of bright gold, the air smelled like leather and old paper–_

_**BAM!**_

_I smacked into something hard, ricocheting towards the ground and hitting it on my back._

_“You should look where you’re headed,” the person told me, voice laced with amusement. “You’re going to run into something far less forgiving.”_

_“Sorry!” I piped up, scraping myself off the floor. I looked up at the person– way, way up, they were so tall compared to me– and the happy smile reappeared. “It’s my first day here!”_

_The man raised his eyebrows, blonde hair glinting in the light. “Oh, really?” He asked. “Today must be special indeed.”_

_“Uh-huh.” I crossed my arms over my bright blue shirt. “I’m gonna be in charge of this place one day.”_

_“I see your ambition needs no prompting,” he said with the hint of a laugh. Then his head lifted, and his eyes scanned the otherwise empty hall. “Where are your–”_

_“Gale!” Mama cried out, bursting in through doors. The moment she saw me, a worried sigh escaped her. “Gale, I’ve told you not to hurry ahead.” She walked briskly over to me, red shoes clicking on the tile._

_“I’m okay!” I assured her. “I just wanted to see everything as quick as I could-”_

_“And in doing so, neglected to notice potential obstacles in her path,” the man added, straightening his back as Mama approached. “She nearly knocked me over. Earth circle like her father, I presume?”_

_But the relieved smile on Mama’s face faded as she looked at the man. “Excuse me?” She asked after a pause._

_The man nodded, more to himself than at us. “Ah, yes. Please forgive me, I forget how… blunt I can be.” He held out a hand. “Konstantin. Konstantin Vasiliev.”_

_“Apparently you already know me.” Mama shook his hand, and when she took hers back, she placed it on my shoulder protectively._

_But the blonde man– Konstantin– smiled politely. “A Council member isn’t hard to recognize. I’ve read your husband’s papers on the future outreach of our community. They’re quite fascinating.”_

_“Maybe you can ask him about it when he gets inside,” Mama replied coolly. Her hand tightened around my shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”_

_Konstantin stepped to the side of the hall, clasping his hands behind his back. “Of course, of course,” he said. “Running an entire circle leads to busy days. I completely understand.”_

_Mama nodded but didn’t reply. She began walking again, her hand falling from my shoulder to grab my own. I turned my head around one last time, only to see Konstantin standing there, watching us._

_Watching me._

_When our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers in a light wave. For a second, his veins pulsed a deep white-blue, the color ice was when it split down to the earth._

_I gave him a half-smile back and lifted my free hand to return his wave. My blood ran cold for a heartbeat; a vibrant silver traced a web of lines across the skin of my palm. A little thrill raced through me; the marks had only just started showing, and they usually didn’t appear so easily._

_Konstantin’s eyes widened by a fraction, his reserved posture dissolving only for a moment. His body turned to face us–_

_Mama tugged my hand, and I skipped to catch up. The hall was bright, and the windows were clearer than the panes of glass in the kitchen. In only a couple minutes, I’d forgotten everything about the blonde man and the white-blue marks._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I didn’t think much of him at first,” I admitted. “After that, the only times I saw him were at large gatherings, with enough people to fill the room wall to wall. It was like he’d forgotten about me, just like how I’d forgotten him. Of course, hindsight is twenty-twenty. It wasn’t until my… until I lived with my uncle, that he came back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Shutting the door behind me, I dropped my keys on the counter. A final gust of cold air raised the hairs on the back of my neck; the abrupt warmth of the kitchen made my already flushed cheeks even redder._

_The rapid skitter-scraping of claws on wood brought a smile to my face just as a pair of heavy-set dogs rounded the corner at top speed._

_“Cosmo!” I laughed as the Rottweiler jumped up to greet me, all slobber and happy barks. The second dog, however, didn’t stop in time and went sailing into the wall with a thud._

_“Sputnik,” I sighed, giving Cosmo a scratch behind the ears. Walking over to that klutz of a dog, who scrambled to his feet with a clatter, I ruffled his fur for a moment. “We talked about this. You gotta watch your speed, buddy.”_

_Peering down the dark hallway, I set my bag down by my feet. The dogs immediately zeroed in on it, sniffing it vigorously for any sign of food. “Alexei?” I called out, turning back into the kitchen. “You there?”_

_I hung my coat on the pegs by the door. “Don’t go into the city tomorrow,” I continued loudly. “The snow’s gonna be as thick as the forest by midnight.”_

_“And how do you know that?” A soft voice asked from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Alexei standing in the threshold. Clad in simple jeans and a pale yellow sweater, he was watching me with that little smile that seemed a permanent fixture for him._

_I pulled two mugs and a metal tin down from the cabinets, setting them on the counter. “I’ve been practicing,” I answered with a hint of pride. “Nianin says I’m not an absolute failure.”_

_Alexei raised his eyebrows at that. “Oh, she did, did she?” He sat down at the small table, tucking an errant strand of silver hair behind his ear. “Are you sure she was in her right mind? She wasn’t delusional or sick?”_

_I chuckled as I poured hot water into the mugs. “Last week she told me there was a opening in our circle,” I continued, mixing in the chocolate powder and making my way back to the table with the mugs. “With a powerful figure. Not a Councilman, but…” I cast a sideways glance to Alexei, who was sipping his hot chocolate peacefully. “Do you know a Mr. Vasiliev?”_

_Alexei choked, the mug hitting the table with a thunk. I was half out of my seat when his coughing eased, and he waved me back. Eyes watering, Alexei cleared his throat. “Gale,” he rasped, then gulped and tried again. “Gale. Do you mean Konstantin?”_

_I frowned. “Yes, he’s the one Nianin told me about. She said he’s taking an interest in us glanos.”_

_“And do you know why he’s focusing on the young Teneo?” Alexei demanded. “I don’t need to remind you that-”_

_“That I’m different, that the rules don’t apply to me!” I raised my voice, tossing my hands up in an upset gesture. The moment I did so, there was a barely audible hiss, and the steam rising from my mug was blown away as if it were a candle wick._

_Alexei let out a sigh, head dropping. His silver hair seemed more grey in the copper kitchen lights. “Konstantin is dangerous,” he said in a low tone. “He will do anything to further his ambition._ _**Anything** , Gale. He has no care for others’ lives. Your parents knew, and they–”_

_He broke off suddenly, turning his head to the far wall as if someone captured his attention. But I knew he was hiding, hiding his eyes from me so I wouldn’t see him struggle to keep the tears back._

_“Alexei,” I said quietly. “You’re the only one I have left. I won’t leave you.” Settling back in my chair, I traced a finger around the rim of my mug. “But I can’t let opportunity slip by, not if it’s worth the price. Konstantin has influence, money, favor; there’s a chance he can put a good word in for you with the Council, maybe even get you reinstated–”_

_Alexei was shaking his head, eyes as dark as mine still rooted to the wall. “If you only knew what Konstantin has done…” He whispered; I don’t think he meant to say it out loud. Clearing his throat, he readjusted himself. “Gale, you cannot play with Konstantin as easily as you play with the wind. He is a hailstorm, niece, and before you know it you will be tied to him so tightly that you’ll never touch the ground.”_

_There was a tense pause that filled the room. “I’m not stupid,” I replied evenly. “I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”_

_“You are twelve! You are a **child!** ” Alexei snapped, black eyes furious. I flinched, pulling my arms as close to me as possible; every muscle in my body was wound like a spring. Instantly, Alexei’s anger melted into regret, fury shifting into sorrow. “Gale, I didn’t mean it, I swear–”_

_But the door was already swinging shut behind me._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“_ Well, why was he?” Dr. Banner’s brow was knit in confusion. “Why did Konstantin want you?”

“There’s–” I huffed, sinking further in my seat. “It’s not– I was different, okay? Legacies are genetic, that’s how they’re passed down. Every legacy has a circle, each circle has a counter. My legacy is– _was_ my father’s counter.”

“Counter,” Romanoff repeated, a sharp gleam in her eye. “So everything is balanced?”

I gestured to the woman, sighing in relief. “Yes. Exactly. See, my… my father was a Councilman for the earth circle. My mother was the Councilwoman for the fire circle. So when I turned out to have a wind legacy– not only was it different from both of my parents, it was in the air circle: my father’s counter. In all accounts, I never should’ve ended up with that legacy. Air and earth circle are incompatible, just like the fire and water circles.”

“And Konstantin knew that,” Stark said slowly, pointing at the vague public as he thought it out. “So he scooped you up ‘cause you were special. He’s a collector.”

“He’s a business man,” I corrected, rubbing my temples as the beginnings of a headache sprung into being. “Konstantin found the most vulnerable of us from the most powerful. He had connections, like Nianin, who looked for kids like me. Then he’d swoop in, offer us all we’d ever dreamed of, and slowly cut us off from everyone else. All five of us were outsiders to begin with: I was an orphan, so was Aeron; Ray’s concerns for personal relationships was dwarfed by her ambition, and Sten could withstand anything from a boulder going eighty miles an hour to the taunts about his hair.”

“A team…” Rogers muttered. Then a dark look crossed his face, and his eyes locked onto mine with a frightening intensity. “He must’ve been your leader. A leader of kids learning to fight– to be _soldiers–”_

BANG!

Rogers’ fist slammed down on the table, and then uncurled, shaking. I’d remained perfectly still– not that I wasn’t startled, but that _I knew not to flinch, not to move, not to speak when a strong man was angry_.

“Steve!” Stark raised his voice, hands clenched tight around each other. “Get a hold of yourself!”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Rogers ignored Stark and focused on me. He stood up, the chair scraping back. “Konstantin’s the one who treated you like that. Who–” Rogers looked like he wanted to punch something. “ _Godda–”_ He cursed, stalking over to the wall and pacing to give his rage a less violent outlet.

The other adults were quiet. Judging from the varying degrees of startlement on their faces, Rogers wasn’t one to have spontaneous outbursts.

“Continue.” Rogers said in a tense voice, not at all wanting me to do so, but he knew that he needed to be aware of the massive problem he was entering.

Exhaling through my nose, I shook my head. “I… I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of,” I said hesitantly. “Most of those things happened with Konstantin’s team. With all of them, before things went wrong. But I didn't know just how bad it was; it was like... I finally had something to give me a purpose.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“You know,” Aeron started, the sudden noise causing me to look up from my book. “’Daug’ means warrior in Erui Lammen; I just read it, like, two minutes ago in one of these incredibly boring dictionaries.” He gestured around him to the bookshelves in Konstantin’s library._

_Ray gave him a look from where she sat on the floor, one hand keeping a headphone tight against her ear while she typed into her computer. “Get to your point or shut it,” she advised._

_Aeron grinned. “My darling Ray, light of my life, the butter to my bread, the yee to my haw-”_

_“The what?” Sten and I asked at the same time, befuddled._

_“-do you even know what’s missing from this whole thing?” Aeron continued, ignoring us._

_Ray tilted her head, setting down the headphones. “If you hid my running shoes again, I’m going to gut you.”_

_“No, no, no!” Aeron protested. “We’re missing a uniform!”_

_I scoffed at that, and looked back down at my book. “Uniforms,” I muttered under my breath. “What next, a secret handshake?”_

_“Good addition to the list, itty bitty.” Aeron said in all seriousness. “But really, guys. Matching jackets! We can get a cool logo on the back– I was thinking something with flames, with the words ‘The Baddest Daugs in Town’ underneath in spiky font.”_

_Ray let out a groan, flopping backwards onto the floor. “Lord, free me from this idiot.”_

_“My love, you’re only playing hard to get. I know your deepest desires, how you truly feel– aaaaaaaannnnd apparently you feel like strangling me with an auxilary cord. Duly noted. Ix-nay on the omance-ray.”_

_“You’re on your own, Aeron.”_

_“Sten! I thought we had a connection, you beautiful, blonde lumberjack. Alas, I fear I’m alone in my quest for this fair maiden’s heart– I didn’t mean it, Ray! Put the cord down!”_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I was in Konstantin’s house for a year,” I wrapped up. “One year was all it took for him to get his claws hooked in me. It’s like running in sand– each footstep is unsteady, and it’s a long way to solid ground.”

I cleared my throat, rubbed my hands together, and stood. The movement seemed to shake everyone out of their thoughts. “If you don’t mind,” I addressed the room. “There’s stuff I need to do.”

“Like what?” Barton snorted. “You drop a story like that, and now you’re running away?”

“Running away doesn’t make me a coward,” I snapped at him. “My fear of Konstantin outweighs my anger. I’m making sure he can’t hurt me more than he already has.”

Before anyone could stop me, I swept out of the kitchen, leaving behind yet another mess I’d undoubtedly have to clean up at some point. But nobody followed me. _Finally._

Once I was in my room, I shut the door– and promptly collapsed.

A ragged breath escaped me as my knees hit the floor. There was no one here to see me, no one here to hear me, no one here to witness it. I bent my legs close to my chest, burying my head down between my arms. My body shook as I desperately tried to keep myself together, to keep it all together.

I didn’t let myself sit there for long. As soon as my head had cleared enough, I stumbled to my feet, and sucking in a shaky breath.

I couldn’t let myself break down. I couldn’t let myself be weak.

_Konstantin would lecture me for being weak._

_Konstantin would think me weak._

_I was weak._

_“And this one,” the blonde man said, pointing to the page. “This one is one of my favorites.”_

_“I thought Othello was your favorite,” I said in confusion._

_“No, no,” Konstantin chuckled. “Othello is my favorite play. This line in particular, though, is one of the better ones. Shakespeare had such a gift for writing,” he said, the air of contentment filling the room with a pleasant warmth. “This quote in particular… I find it relates to our life, in more ways than you, Gale, might expect.”_

_The corner of Konstantin’s mouth turned up in a grin, the same one that he had whenever he knew something just beyond reach of my grasp._

_“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”_


	41. CHRISTMAS CHAPTER!

Author’s Note: Before you ask, this is a normal world au. Basically, superheroes don’t exist, ergo Gale is still homeless but doesn’t possess freaky powers. Thor's Australian, though. Thought I should mention that. And just so you know what you’re getting into, yes, this chapter is so long you might actually fall asleep while reading it. I literally typed this whole thing in two days, so please forgive me. I'm running on fumes and sheer lunacy from the sleep deprivation.

People are jerks.

I know I shouldn't be this cynical at my age, but hey- it's the truth. People are big, fat jerks. In fact, I'd go as far to say that every living being on this planet is a jerk, but that would include animals, and we all know that dogs are gifts from heaven sent to ease our existence. Animals are great. Except for seagulls. Seagulls can go screw themselves.

But people are bigger jerks than seagulls, which is seriously an accomplishment. When I was younger and quite frankly more cute, I used to be able to go up to any stranger, ask them for directions or the time, and get that and a couple bucks if I was lucky. Now that I've grown out of the adorable baby chub and the puppy-dog eyes, people just ignore me. Or avoid me. Or glare and tell me to get lost, which spices things up a little.

"Whatever, man," I muttered under my breath, flicking the latches closed on the guitar case. "No, I _totally_ get why you hated the fact that an acoustic cover of a song might, God forbid, have an _acoustic instrument_ in it."

The crowd had thinned out about half an hour ago. I’d wrapped up the last song– not that anyone was really listening anyway– just in time to have some jerk-wad offer his “professional advice”. I just smiled, nodded my head, and gave him the finger behind his back. You know, as you usually do with such butt heads.

I tugged my hat down over the tips of my ears; the air was freezing, and even though I didn’t mind winter as much as some, I never liked having cold ears. Stamping my feet a little to work some feeling into my toes, I curled my fingers around the handle of the case, and set off down the path.

The sky above was shrouded in grey, without much depth to it. If I stared at it long enough, it reminded me of a lake in the winter; like the entire world was underneath the ice, and at any moment something would come crashing through the top and shatter the clouds like glass.

But, as always, there was never enough time to daydream. So I kept my head down and walked briskly down the sidewalk, trying my best not the knock anyone over with my guitar case. Normally there’d be loads more people, but the sun was setting and the wind cut through coats like a knife. Nobody wanted to be left in the cold, not when there was dinner and warm rooms and family to get back to. Christmas in two days meant a hurry to make memories that weren’t freezing your toes off.

Me? I just wanted to get away from everyone so I didn’t choke on the holiday spirit.

Yeah, yeah, bah humbug and all that. Go ahead and sue me, I didn’t like Christmas. It was remarkable hypocritical in my opinion. People pretended to be charitable for one month, and proclaimed their “desire to spread goodwill through the world”. But the day _after_ the 25th? Oh, screw everyone else. It’s back to good ole American values, like caring about yourself and scamming the folks who don’t know better.

Yes, I’m the Grinch, except for the green fur. I mean, why I should I care about false generosity? Being nice is nothing if you’re not being honest.

The edge of my shoe caught on a crack in the pavement and I stumbled forward a couple of steps, smacking into someone’s back.

“Sorry, sorry!” I quickly said, regaining my balance.

The woman looked at me, and I saw her take in my appearance. Her lips pursed together and she shook her head. “Watch where you’re going, kid,” she said coldly, and lifted the phone back to her ear. “Sorry about that, Miranda. No, I’m fine, some homeless twit ran into me. Yes, I know, they really should do something about that, they’re _everywhere_ …” The woman complained as she pushed her way through a gaggle of college students, vanishing from sight.

I took a deep breath in, counted to ten, and continued walking.

There was a steady stream of yellow cabs heading back from the Rockefeller ice rink, each one full of smiling people with red cheeks and breath that smelled like hot chocolate. They whizzed past me, oblivious to everything outside of their laughter.

As I headed past one of the countless skyscrapers, a flash of movement caught my eye. I slowed down, and glanced to my right. In the gleaming windows that stretched from one floor to the next, I could see myself reflected. The light from inside the building washed gold over me, making it seem like I was made from brass and copper, another mechanical toy in a display window for children to gawk at.

Except in my case, I wasn’t something to be ooh-ed and ah-ed at. I was the one that parents would point out for the kids and say, “If you’re not good this year, then Santa will give you _that_ one”. And, of course, the children would trip over themselves to do something nice, _anything_ nice– because they could bear to do it, just as long as they didn’t get _that_ one.

I wasn’t meaning to bum myself out, but I guess it was inevitable. With a significantly heavier heart, I picked up the pace and trudged around the corner.

The wind was blowing harder now, whistling through the maze of streets and skyscrapers. Around me, I saw strangers shiver and burrow their faces into their scarves. They shoved their hands in their pockets, cheeks flushed. As if someone had given them a silent order, they quickened their steps, eager to find refuge in the comfort of their homes.

One by one, they turned off onto the residential streets. Stores turned to apartments around me as I walked, the guitar case bumping against my knee with every step. Trees sprouted from the ground and formed a canopy over the street, casting shadows on the already-darkening pavement.

Sliding my free hand into the pocket of my jacket, I ran my fingers over the slip of paper tucked away. It’d been crumbled so many times that it was as soft as cotton– seriously, it was a miracle that it didn’t just fall to pieces the moment I touched it.

A frown came over my face as I traced the edge of the paper. I’d been doing pretty good for myself, considering that I was just barely sixteen and completely on my own.

_“Alright, let’s see…” I muttered under my breath, scanning the spines of the books. My guitar case was resting by my feet; I had to make sure I wouldn’t trip over it as I went back and forth. “The library better have it this week, I swear–”_

_“’Scuse me!” Someone piped up by my elbow._

_I glanced down only to see a runt of a kid staring up at me with sharp hazel eyes. “Uh,” I said, bewildered. “Can I help you with something?”_

_The boy pointed a finger at the top row of the bookshelves. “I need that one,” he said matter-of-factly._

_“Sure thing…” I nodded slowly. Lifting a hand towards one of the books– something about physics for middle-schoolers– I looked back at the boy._

_“No, not that one,” he huffed, shaking his head. The movement sent his curly hair bouncing from side to side. “ **That** one.” He pointed again._

_I tapped the cover of the next book over. It was easily three times the size of the other book, and the author’s name had a “Dr.” in it, so surely this little kid didn’t mean–_

_“Yup!” He smiled widely._

_Eyebrows raised, I pulled the thick book off of the shelf, and handed it down to the boy. He grabbed it, squinted at the cover, and flipped it open to the first page. I stared at him– he couldn’t have been more than eight._

_After a second or two, the boy hadn’t moved; he was completely absorbed in the book. I glanced down the aisle, but there was no one else in sight. “Kid,” I began, “you here with anyone or-”_

_“Felix!” A girl’s voice called out. It was immediately followed by a chorus of “shh”s from various directions._

_The boy sighed, seemingly annoyed. “Every time,” he grumbled, and flipped the page._

_A girl rounded the corner, eyes falling on the boy, and marched over to where we stood. “Felix!” She glared at him, ponytail swinging with every step. “I told you to stay nearby!”_

_“I found a book,” Felix replied, not looking up from the page._

_The girl threw her hands up in the air. “Well, call the press, Felix found a book! Like **that’s** never happened before!”_

_I was just standing there, trying to decide when to edge away from the conversation, when Felix raised a hand and point at me. “Technically, she helped me, so it’s not **completely** my fault.”_

_The girl’s brown eyes locked on my face. A shiver raced down my neck; I wasn’t scared of most things, but I definitely didn’t want to cross this person. She was easily five inches taller than me, and even though winter was setting in, she only had a leather jacket and a baseball cap to ward off the cold and snow._

_“I swear, he just asked me to get the book down from the top shelf,” I explained quickly._

_The irritation in the girl’s eyes faded as she sighed. “Yeah, it’s probably for the best that you did,” she admitted. She reached out a hand and ruffled the boy’s hair, causing him to make a sound of disgust and swat her away. “Felix would’ve climbed the bookshelves if you hadn’t.”_

_“I’m pursuing intellectual enlightenment,” Felix sniffed. “It’s not my fault that the shelves can’t handle my enthusiasm.”_

_“Felix, you knocked over **three** of them the last time. The library barely let us come back after all the re-shelving they had to do,” the girl reminded him._

_“Like I said, Ryan: not my fault.”_

_Ryan– odd name for a girl, then again who was I to judge– shook her head, but there was a soft smile on her face. “Nothing gets between you and books, does it?”_

_Felix snapped the book shut with a thud. “Nope!” He beamed._

_“Siblings?” I spoke up, drawing the pair’s attention back to me. “You guys are brother and sister?”_

_“Yup.” Ryan nodded. “We come here a lot. **Some** body goes through their books too quickly.” She tilted her head, observing me. It was an unnerving sensation. “I haven’t seen you here before.”_

_“Yeah, I’m just passing through.” I shrugged. “I don’t have much reading material outside of libraries.”_

_Something clicked in Ryan’s head– realization dawned in her eyes as she looked at me. “You’re a runaway.”_

_My guard shot up. I shifted my feet, straightening my back. “What’s it to you?” I asked evenly._

_“Nothing much,” Ryan replied, putting her hands in her pockets. “I don’t mind it as much as other people.”_

_“People are jerks,” Felix chimed in. “Not you, though.” He scrunched up his nose, staring at me. “Most strangers ask me if I got lost on my way to the kid’s section. Not many people just help me without speaking all condescendingly.”_

_“Um… thanks?” I tried._

_“Alright, buddy,” Ryan nudged her brother. “Let’s get back to the apartment.” Felix sighed heavily, but started walking towards the exit. Ryan nodded once at me, and turned around to leave. But just as I was about to head further down the aisle, the girl stopped in her tracks._

_“Hey- wait a sec,” she called out, walking back towards me. Puzzled, I halted in the middle of the aisle._

_“Yeah?” I asked her._

_Ryan patted her jacket pockets, frowning. “Gimme a minute- oh, there it is-” She pulled out a tiny spiral notebook that’d seen better days. “You planning on going to a kitchen this week?”_

_“Sorry?”_

_She spared me a glance as she scribbled something down, using an empty spot on a shelf to write on. “All of the kitchens are open this close to Christmas,” she explained. “They’ve stocked up on all sorts of food. Are you going to one of them?”_

_“I- I mean-” I stammered. It wasn’t this girl’s business where I went– why did she feel entitled to my life in the first place?_

_Ryan gave me a crooked grin, and I got that same uneasy feeling as before; I didn’t doubt that she’d willingly fight someone in a dark alley just for kicks and giggles. “It’s alright,” she told me. “I get it. You don’t like people knowing you’re down on your luck. Believe me, I really do understand.”_

_I crossed my arms, refusing to back up even if it seemed like an appealing option at the moment. “And what’s it to you?” I asked sharply._

_If my tone ruffled her, Ryan didn’t show it. She tore the slip of paper off and handed it to me, completely at ease. “I heard from one of my buddies,” Ryan lowered her voice, “that they’re cracking down on the kids this holiday.”_

_“They?” I said, matching Ryan’s volume._

_“Santa and his army of elves.” She rolled her eyes. “No, princess, Social Services. Foster Care. The big guys with vans. My friend said they’re scooping up all the under-eighteen-ers, in the interest of ‘finding these poor children a home’ and simultaneously ‘helping the homelessness problem’.”_

_I looked down at the paper. A name and an address was scrawled in black ink, barely legible. “So that means…”_

_“If you wanna living on your own, avoid ‘em like the plague.” Ryan shrugged indifferently. “Or don’t. It’s up to you. But that right there, that’s a place where you can lay low for a day or two, just until the holiday craziness dies down.”_

_“Thanks,” I said quietly, tucking the paper in my pocket._

_Ryan’s lips quirked up in a grin._ _“Hey, if I can screw the bureaucrats, I will.” She waggled her fingers at me, and started walking back to where Felix was waiting impatiently._

_“Oh, Ryan-” This time I was the one to call out. The girl looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question. “If you ask Marcy– the lady in the front, yellow sweater– she’ll let you check out the back room. There’s a bunch of books they’ve gotten newer versions of- she’ll look the other way while you grab a few.”_

_Ryan’s smile returned to her face as she processed the words, glancing back at Felix. “I’ll do that,” she said. “Thanks, princess.”_

_When the duo vanished behind the rows and shelves, I picked up my guitar case, took one last look at all the books I’d never read, and headed towards the exit._

The cold air made my throat burn as it rushed into my lungs. Geez, how much further was this place?

I pulled the slip of paper out from my pocket. Ryan’s penmanship _definitely_ had something to be desired. I could barely make out the numbers, despite being written in pen.

“Seven… I think,” I muttered out loud. Thankfully, there was no one nearby to question my sanity. “Seven three… four?”

Lifting my head, I searched the row of narrow houses, built upwards instead of out to make the most of the space. Brass numbers glinted by the doors; there was just enough light left in the sky to read them.

_Seven one eight… seven two zero… seven two four…_

I walked briskly down the sidewalk, head swiveling from side to side as I counted the houses. Ryan had better been telling the truth- I didn't want to face someone who might threaten to call the cops.

_Seven two eight… seven three two…_

Then my eyes fell on one of the units across the street, painted a deep violet that looked black where the trees cast their shadows. Nailed to the white door was a set of brass numbers:

_Seven three four_

The lampposts that lined the street suddenly switched on, dripping pools of golden light. A smile escaped me- talk about having a light bulb moment.

I hopped down from the sidewalk and hustled towards number 734, eager to wrap up this escapade. The steps leading to the door were concrete; I made sure not to slip on them– it would _seriously_ hurt to trip.

Without skipping a beat, I knocked on the door.

The seconds ticked by with no response. I leaned back and tried to get a look through the windows. The curtains were drawn on the ground floor, but the lights were on inside. Someone was obviously home.

So I knocked again, louder this time.

_Okay, if nobody answers, I’m high-tailing it back to–_

Footsteps suddenly echoed from inside the house, gradually growing closer to me. _Finally_ , I thought. _For someone who’s expecting runaway kids, they sure do take their sweet time._

The door swung open, revealing a tall man in a purple shirt and jeans standing there, blinking down at me. “Yeah?” He asked, leaning against the door frame. “Can I help you with somethin’?”

I stared at him for a moment, and then looked down at the paper. “I take it you’re…” I squinted at Ryan’s handwriting. “Margaret Beecher?”

“Uh…” The man trailed off, looking at me like I was only slightly crazy. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say no.”

“Great!” I exclaimed, throwing my free hand in the air. “Just great!” I took a second look at the paper, running over the numbers again. “It was a–” I broke off. “A freaking _one_! _One_ thirty four, not _seven_ thirty four!” I cried out, angry at the fact that _Ryan was apparently incapable of written communication._

“Whoa, calm down,” the man cut in. “Who’re you looking for–” His eyebrows knit together. “Wait a second. Where’re your parents, kid?” The man leaned his head out, looking up and down the empty street.

“Um… I’m…” I frantically searched for a plausible excuse while the man waited. “Caroling?” I finally tried, wishing it hadn’t sounded so much like a question.

The man gave me a look. “Sure, kid. Your guitar’s in the case and I haven’t heard any music nearby for hours, minus my stupid neighbor’s stereo.”

I shook my head, stepping back from the door. “Look, man, I’m sorry I bothered you, alright? I’ll be on my way now.” I turned away, already figuring out how long the walk back would take.

“Wait– kid–” The man called out. I paused, glancing over my shoulder to see what he would say. “It’s pretty dark out there,” he started, the faintest trace of hesitation in his voice. “If you want, you can use my phone to call someone.”

I stood there for a moment, my breath turning to clouds of steam in the rapidly cooling air. The skyscrapers were already lit up, and all along the street, colored lights draped around trees and over windowsills were switching on.

“You’re sure?” I asked the man, who rolled his eyes.

“It’s freezing, kid,” he said in a “well, duh” tone. “You can wait inside where it’s warm for someone to pick you up.”

There was a small pang in my chest, a flicker of guilt that rose and fell in a heartbeat. But I nodded, climbed the steps once more, and stepped into the house. The man shut the door and passed by me, heading further into the room.

It was like I’d walked into a late spring day. I could literally feel the chill that lingered on my clothes evaporating. A sigh of relief slipped past my lips; I learned early on that a warm room wasn’t to be taken lightly, not when there was a surplus of nights in the cold.

The second thing that hit me was the mess.

As my eyes fell upon the room itself, I realized that, quite frankly, even _I_ had better organizational skills than this dude. There were discarded take-out boxes on the coffee table, five socks under the couch, and a good layer of dog hair that was accumulating along the baseboards. The walls had been painted a plain eggshell, with a few dark spots that looked suspiciously like scorch marks.

“Good Lord,” I whispered under my breath. “You _live_ here?”

“If you’ve got a problem with it, I’m sure you can wait outside,” the man called from the kitchen, which was separated from the main room by a half-wall. I caught a glimpse of a fridge covered with Post-Its and an ancient coffee machine that’d seen better days. “Oh, I’m sorry, you can _carol_ outside.”

“Are you usually this sarcastic?” I asked.

“I dunno, are you usually wandering around New York alone?” The man fired back. He trotted back from the kitchen, holding a landline phone.

I set my guitar case down and accepted it, staring down at the buttons for a minute. Now that I actually _could_ call someone…

“Well?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow. “You do know how a phone works, right?”

I didn’t reply; there wasn’t a good way to say what I was thinking. _That even if I did call someone, they’d refuse to even speak to me._

Thankfully, there was a loud _thud_ that came from upstairs, breaking the awkward silence. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That stupid dog– I’m coming, geez!” He shouted at the ceiling. I heard a muffled, happy _woof!_ and the regular thumping of a wagging tail.

“Just– make your call and I’ll be down in a minute,” the man sighed, and headed up the stairs.

I waited until he completely vanished from sight, and let out the breath I’d been holding. The phone was still in my hand, taunting me. _Go ahead_ , it seemed to say. _Try to call them. See if they’ll even answer– if they won’t hang up the moment they realize it’s you._

 _Screw them_ , I thought bitterly, and set the phone down on the coffee table.

Without much else to do, I stood there in the middle of the room, glancing around. Despite the clutter, there weren’t many personal objects. No photographs, no department store paintings, nothing that made the house feel lived in. But it was a familiar sight to me; I was all too comfortable with environments like this. Nothing to come back to, nothing to get attached to.

_Why the heck was I still here?_

Not really thinking about it, I bent down and grabbed the handle of my guitar case. My muscles creaked as I lifted it up– it’d been a long day, with little to show for it. This close to Christmas, and nobody cared enough to spare a dollar or two. Then again, maybe they thought I played for the heck of it, and not because– according to Ryan– I needed money to stay out of the kitchens.

I took a deep breath, savored the pleasant warmth of the room, and walked as quietly as I could towards the door. I’d just out my hand on the knob when–

“They got here that fast, huh?”

I jerked away from the head, whirling around to see the man standing by the foot of the stairs, hands in his pockets. His head was tilted to the left, as if he was trying to hear something just out of reach.

I managed to shake my head, heart thumping in my ears. “Voicemail,” I said, voice cracking at the end. “I’m just gonna walk, it’ll be easier–”

“To where?” The man interrupted, body completely at ease. “An alley? A camp? Or maybe the park– but there’s a lot of people there, and you don’t strike me as the social type.”

“Ex- ex _cuse_ me?” I spluttered. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but-”

“Doesn’t take much to recognize a runaway, kiddo,” he scoffed. “And don’t waste your breath sayin’ it ain’t true. Granted, you probably fool a lot of folks, but I’m smarter than I look.”

My spine was rigid– my lungs wouldn’t inflate all the way. I glanced at the phone and then at the door. _Trying to see how far I could get before he called the cops._

 _“_ About a mile and a half,” the man said casually.

I nearly jumped again. “How the–”

“For starters, you’ve got a backpack and a heavy-lookin’ guitar case.” He nodded at the case. “That’s gonna weigh you down. Second of all, you don’t know the neighborhood. Now, once you hit the main roads, I bet you’ll find some hidey-hole, and as soon as you hunker down for the night you won’t be easy to find. But, unfortunately for you, I’ve got some _very_ fast friends and a dog who can smell food across four-lane traffic. So you’d get about a mile and a half until you got caught.”

I glared at him. He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. “Don’t test me,” I warned him, carefully reaching behind me towards my backpack. There was a tiny pocket, near the bottom; if I could grab the pocket knife, he’d be a lot less willing to go after me.

“I’m not planning to,” he said with a chuckle. A yawn came over his face, and he screwed up his eyes. “Oh, man, that’s the last time I play Xbox ‘till four in the morning.” He padded over into the kitchen. I saw him rifle through the cabinets (which had a few boxes of cereal and not much else), and finally bring down a large tin.

“Wait…” I said hesitantly, hand dropping back to my side. “You’re not gonna call the cops?”

His lips quirked up in a half-smile. “You drink coffee, kid?” He asked, ignoring the question.

“Yes?”

“Too bad. It stunts your growth.” The man gave me another look. “But I think you’ve got that covered.” Before I could protest, he plowed on. “I’m Clint, Clint Barton, by the way. Not… whoever it was you’re trying to find. ‘Margaret’ or whatever.”

The coffee machine let out a beep and began gurgling. Instantly there was another loud bark from upstairs, and then something big and furry came crashing down the stairs so fast it slammed into the wall with a crash.

“Lucky!” Barton admonished, struggling to hide a grin. “ _Every_ time.”

The dog scrambled to its feet and pranced over to me, wearing a big, goofy grin.

“Hey, big guy,” I said, bending down to give the dog a scratch. My eyes caught on– well, to put it frankly– the dog’s _lack_ of its own. His left was squeezed shut, and the fur around it was beginning to grow back, but the skin beneath was pocketed with scar tissue. “I sure hope you bit whoever did that,” I muttered.

“Oh, Lucky did more than that,” Barton chuckled, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “You shoulda seen the guy. He ain’t hitting anymore dogs in the next ten lifetimes.”

“Good.” I straightened up, giving Lucky one last pat. The furry dog then padded into the kitchen, where Barton was bringing down a couple of mugs. Both of them let out a simultaneous yawn. “So, uh… I guess I’m staying for coffee.”

“Wise choice.” Barton nodded sagely as he poured two cups. “This is the good stuff. I know ‘cause I used my rich friend’s credit card, and I’ve already deleted five angry voicemails.”

Like it’d been summoned by some arcane power, the landline started ringing loudly, rattling against the coffee table. Barton didn’t blink. “Oh, dear,” he said monotonously. “What an absolute shame I’m not home right now.”

I couldn’t help but crack a grin. Ducking my head to hide it, I caught a glimpse of Barton’s face– he looked pleased at that.

The landline finally stopped beeping just as Barton walked back out to the living room, a mug of hot coffee in each hand. I set my guitar case back down to accept one of the cups, suddenly very aware of how I was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.

Lucky sprang up on the couch, circled around a bit, and then flopped down right in the center. Barton sat– more like gave up on gravity– and let out a big ‘ _oof‘._ He fumbled for a remote and finally clicked the TV on the opposite wall on. It cut to a channel on some archery competition, the volume completely muted.

“Really?” I crinkled my nose. “Didn’t take you for a Renaissance Fair kind of guy.”

“Hey!” Barton protested. “I invite you into my house, let you drink my coffee and pet my dog, and now you insult the awesomest of sports?”

I shot him a look. “‘Awesomest’ isn’t a word, dog-food-for-brains.”

Lucky whined at that, squirming around a little so he could wiggle his head under Barton’s arm. “For archery, it is,” Barton defended, taking a gulp of coffee. He pointed to the screen, where a woman was gesturing to the parts of a compound bow. “See that? It looks easy, but truth is it takes years to master it- really, it takes years to master _anything_.” He glanced over at me; I hadn’t made a move yet. “Lucky doesn’t bite, you know. Unless you’re between him and pizza.”

Hesitantly, I puled my backpack off my shoulders and set it down next to the guitar case. I quietly walked over to the other end of the couch and sat down, as far away from Barton as could be. My body instantly sank into the cushions and I held back a sigh of relief; I’d been on my feet since before daybreak, and it felt like heaven to sit for a moment.

Lucky’s jaw was hanging open in a gleeful smile as he scooted towards me, dragging his hind legs behind him. I held the mug high above me, careful not to spill. The dog set his front paws down in my lap and looked up at me with big brown eyes.

“You couldn’t hurt a fly, could ya?” I said quietly, un-flopping one of Lucky’s ears and smoothing the ruffled fur out. He whined when I stopped and pulled himself further into my lap– which, seeing as this was a full sized Labrador, was akin to setting a load textbooks on my legs.

Barton gave me another sideways glance. “You a dog person?” He asked casually.

“Yup,” I replied, running a hand over Lucky’s side. The dog immediately stopped squirming, twisting his head back to look at me. “I used to own a pair Rottweilers. Each ‘bout twice Lucky’s size. Complete nightmare to potty train.”

“Funny. I woulda pegged you as a cat person,” Barton admitted, eyes rooted to the screen. “No!” He cried out, gesturing at the competitors. “You- you _idiot_! That’s not even a- you _turd burger!”_

Raising the mug to my mouth to hide a grin, I took a sip of coffee– _and holy mother of all things caffeinated, this was **incredible**._

Barton didn’t speak again for a while; both of us just sat there, drinking expensive coffee in a heap of a living room, watching archery competitions with a dog who was just happy to be there.

After the eighth round, I went to take another sip, but the mug was empty. With a start, I looked out the window and saw it was pitch black outside.

“Crud!” I reached over Lucky and set the mug down on the table. The dog didn’t scoot out of my lap, so I tried to gently push him off– surprise surprise, to no success.

“Something wrong?” Barton frowned, leaning forward in his seat.

“It’s already late,” I said hurriedly, finally wiggling out from under Lucky who grumbled in response. “I forgot how quickly it gets dark, now I’ve got three and a half miles to go with a freakin’ _guitar case–”_

Barton held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, take a breath,” he told me. “Just–”

“Just what?!” I snapped, snatching up my backpack. “I don’t have a penny to spare, I’m cold, I’m hungry, and now I’m gonna get mugged in some dark alley! I think I’m perfectly entitled to be upset!”

Lucky whined, sliding off the couch and trotting over to me. He nudged my hand with his cold nose– I yanked my hand away and wiped it on my jacket, ignoring the dog.

Barton stood, hands in his pockets. “Look, if you’re worried about-”

“Save it!” I lifted the heavy case in one hand, yanked one of the straps of the backpack– it was always sliding loose– and marched over to the door. “Nice to meet you, bye.”

“Hey!” Barton raised his voice. I stopped dead in my tracks, one hand hovering over the doorknob. “If you just slowed down for a minute, you’d…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What I’m saying is that if you’re really concerned about going out there… I’ve got a couple of spare blankets in the closet. You can stay the night if you want to.”

_Is he being serious?_

I scarcely believed my ears. Turning back to face him, I shook my head. “Dude, there’s _no way_ you’re not joking.”

“Believe it or not, when I was your height, I was in a similar situation,” Barton admitted, shrugging. “You don’t have to take me up the offer. But speaking as a former street kid, shelter’s always a good idea during the winter. The wind’ll cut you to the bone and the snow will freeze your nose off. You can’t count on people’s good will for the holidays- once Christmas passes, it’s back to counting pennies.”

Lucky bumped his head against my free hand again, tail wagging hopefully. I looked down at him, his one eye trained on mine. With his bad eye shut, it seemed like he was winking.

Barton smiled. “And Lucky likes you, so I don’t think you’re gonna pull a knife on me while I’m sleeping.” He tilted his head, no trace of hostility on his face. “Besides, you can leave whenever. I’m not gonna _make_ you pet my dog or drink my coffee. Those are just added bonuses.”

I stared at the door, trying to find fault in his logic. Part of me wanted to just high-tail down the street, but… it was warm here, and I was tired, and this stupid happy dog was looking up at me like I was the best person in its world…

“I’m gone by the morning,” I said shortly, setting the case down for the third time. “No matter what.”

Barton didn’t laugh, or make a witty comment about him being right. Instead, he just nodded. “I’ll find those blankets– granted if Lucky didn’t chew them to pieces.” He walked over to the stairs, opening a small door at their base.

While he rifled through _that_ mess of a closet, I set my backpack next to the guitar and shed my jacket. Lucky shoved his head into the jacket, huffing as he inhaled all the smells. I wondered what was so interesting to him– the hotdog I had for breakfast? The smell of lavender from the park? The fur from that raccoon that tried to steal my shoes off of me while I was sleeping?

“Heads up!”

I whipped around just in time to be hit in the face by an armful of fabric. “Seriously?” I complained. “Why do people think I’m always ready to catch things?”

“Because people normally have good reflexes, which you seem to have a lack of.”

I shot him a glare. “Watch it, coffee-head.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I got it, I got. Jeez-- for a ten year-old you sure are willing to throw down in a second.”

“Sixteen,” I muttered, spreading the blankets out on the couch. “I’m sixteen.”

“Yeah, since when?” Barton snorted, tossing a spare pillow across the room. “Two hours ago?”

“Doesn’t matter, ‘cause if we’re going by emotional maturity, you’re no more than ten,” I sassed back. Lucky jumped back up on the couch the moment the blankets were all smooth, and flopped down happily at the other end.

“Lucky,” Barton admonished, heading over to where the dog was curled up. “Come on, buddy, leave her alone.”

“It’s alright.” I waved it off. “I’m cool with it. My dogs used to sleep on the bed all the time.”

Barton shrugged, but didn’t press further. “Okay,” he said, taking one last look around the room. “I think that’s it. Um… if you leave in the middle of the night, make sure the door’s shut behind you– sometimes you have to yank on the handle. And the heat’s gonna be on, but there’s probably another blanket in the closet if it’s a little chilly for you. And…”

“Don’t throw a party while you’re asleep,” I finished dryly. “Gotcha.”

Barton grinned. “Alright, kiddo.” With that, he walked back to the stairs, flicking off the main light. The street lights outside were just bright enough to peek through the curtains, making it easier to see in the otherwise dark room.

Lucky huffed, setting his head down on his paws. I sat down on the edge of the couch and took off my shoes. Sliding under the blankets, I made sure not to accidentally kick the dog, who was already fast asleep.

As I set my head down on the pillow, I tried to listen closely. The heater was rattling, Lucky was softly snoring, the odd car rumbled by the street– and if I was absolutely focused, I could hear a rhythmic thumping: my heartbeat.

Whenever something good happened, I always checked for my heartbeat. It was a comfort to know it was there; and when it wasn’t…

If I didn’t have a heartbeat, I knew I was dreaming. And even if it was a good dream, it was a dream nonetheless, and it wouldn’t do me any favors to lie to myself, not even for a couple hours. If I didn’t have a heartbeat, I told myself to wake up, start moving, and get my head out of the clouds.

But right now, that regular thudding in my ears told me that it was okay, that I wasn’t dreaming, that I wouldn’t wake up by myself in the cold. My chest wouldn’t feel a little tight when I realized it was all a fantasy. My bones wouldn’t ache as I pulled myself to my feet, facing a day that bled into the last.

So, with a snoring dog by my feet and a pillow that smelled suspiciously like coffee beans, I allowed myself to close my eyes and fall asleep.

I don’t think I’ve hated snow more than I did in this moment.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall against the window. The glass was freezing, and by the looks of it, so was the rest of the world outside the door.

I’d slept like one of Medusa’s victims, which was probably the result of one too many all-nighters. I was used to waking up every couple of hours, just to check around and make sure no raccoon was making off with my socks. And at some point during the night, Lucky had decided that my legs were far more comfy than the couch, and therefore had sprawled over my lower body, rendering me immobile.

It must’ve been late in the morning when I woke, much later than I _ever_ got out of bed. The room wasn’t dark anymore; the light coming through the windows was pale grey, washing the color from the room.

I managed to scoot out from under the blankets, keeping the sleeping dog happy. The air was cold on my skin, sending a ripple of goosebumps down my arms. Yawning, I stumbled over to the window, my socks slipping a little on the wood floor.

And that’s when I saw the snow.

There must have been at least a foot of it, piled up on the sidewalks and the lining the tops of hedges and trees. Down the street, I could see a snowdozer working its way in this direction. There wasn’t a single living soul in sight– and why would anyone _want_ to be outside in the first place?

And that’s when I hit my head against the window.

Lucky let out a groan and flipped onto his back, paws sticking straight up in the air. He was perfectly content to be indoors on a snow day. I, however, was cursing every single cloud in existence.

Upstairs, I heard a door open, and footsteps scraping towards the stairs. Barton made his way down, rubbing his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice me standing by the door at all; he just stumbled into the kitchen and made a bee-line for the coffee machine.

Lucky’s eye shot open and locked onto Barton’s figure. He scrambled to his paws and skipped into the kitchen, leaning against Barton’s legs. The man reached down to give Lucky a scratch, and the dog’s tail whacked against the floor.

“You seem grumpy,” Barton mumbled, letting out another yawn. He leaned back against the counter, blinking slowly at the room around him.

I glared at the clouds one last time and stepped away from the window. “I can’t travel in this weather,” I grumbled. “You ever walked a couple miles in the snow, hefting a freaking _guitar case_?”

Barton tilted his head, lost in thought. “No,” he started slowly, “but I’ve hiked twenty kilometers in the mountains with a compound bow for the heck of it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re kidding me– for _fun_?”

“Three time national champion,” Barton said proudly. “But archery’s not exactly a well known– or a well paying– sport to begin with, so I don’t have as much time for it as I’d like.”

“So what do you do? I mean, I don’t think you could afford a place like this just by shooting pointy things at a target.”

Barton pointed a finger at me. “One: ouch, hurtful. Two: like I said before, I’ve got a rich friend who thinks a house is a suitable birthday present. And three: I actually have a job.”

“Seriously?” I made a face, trying to guess a plausible answer. “Uh, private security? Mall cop?”

Barton chuckled but shook his head. “No, I actually work at a bunch of local schools,” he admitted. “I sub in for gym teachers, theater directors, that kind of stuff. And give motivational speeches every once in a while, but that’s about it.”

“Huh.” I eyed the man. “You seem to be full of surprises, Mister Barton.”

He swept an arm out in a mocking bow. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Miss…” Barton trailed off, face suddenly drawn in confusion. “I never got your name.”

_Oh, wonderful_.

Reluctant as I was to share personal information, I gritted my teeth nonetheless and gave the man an honest reply. “Gale. It’s Gale.” And before Barton could ask– “ _Just_ Gale.”

Barton nodded, but I could tell he noticed the silent rebut. Yet he didn’t press any further, and instead poured two fresh mugs of coffee, and headed into the living room.

He took a seat on the floor, cross-legged like a little kid. “Hey, so it sounds like you can’t really go anywhere with the snow,” Barton began, handing me one of the mugs.

“Believe me, I wish I could,” I grumbled, sitting back down on the couch. “But until the sidewalks get shoveled, I’m basically grounded.”

“Then I hope you don’t mind people,” he remarked, sipping his coffee. “Because my friends are coming over any minute now to waste the rest of the day.”

“ _What?!”_ I yelped, startling Lucky. “Sorry– _people_? I don’t– I don’t do people.”

“Then go outside and freeze to death,” Barton suggested calmly. “But I promise you, they're not that bad. If you want, you can just sit motionless on the couch for several hours. Afterall, they only attack if you make sudden movements."

I wasn't sure about the whole thing- but it wasn't my house, and I was raised to be polite to any host. "Fine," I said reluctantly. "But I'm lodging a formal complaint against parties of any sort. Talking to people disagrees with me. It's a medical condition, you know. Very serious. I get hives if I'm forced to be social."

“You’re like a tiny Natasha,” Barton chuckled. “Five feet of concentrated social aversion.”

“Five feet, three inches,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

“Oh _ho!_ " Barton cackled. "My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. Five feet _three inches_ of concentrated–”

I lobbed a pillow at him, which he barely had time to deflect. “You tall people think you’re so special, with your smug little grins, and your midget jokes. Well, how would you like if it people constantly used you as an arm rest?”

He paused for a moment, an impish grin on his face. “You’ve gotta speak up, the altitude difference is really–”

“Get him, Lucky!” I cried out, and without hesitation, the dog flung himself into Barton’s lap, knocking both of them backwards onto the ground.

“Traitor!” Barton yelled, but his voice was muffled as Lucky slobbered all over his upper body. I cackled as Barton tried to shove Lucky off of him, but the dog was dead set on giving him an impromptu bath.

“I think I’ve accidentally stolen your dog,” I giggled, catching my breath.

Finally, Barton pushed Lucky to the side, who sat there wagging his tail, utterly satisfied with the world. “I pick you up off the streets, offer you pizza, give you a name,” Barton complained, wiping his face with his shirt. “And the moment _she_ shows up, you go running to her like she’s some saint.”

“Well,” I remarked, “I am irresistible.”

“You and Tony are going to get along _wonderfully_ ,” he muttered.

Just then, there came a loud knocking from the door. Lucky’s ears perked up, and a grin slid over Barton’s face. “ _Finally_ ,” he said, rising to his feet and heading for the door. “You’d think for all his brains, he’d learn how to be on time.”

I frowned. “Sorry, who–”

The moment Barton unlocked the door, it flew open, nearly hitting him in the face. A line of people streamed into the room, led by a shorter man who made a bee-line for the coffee table.

“I told you it was working!” The man shouted, picking up the landline and holding it out for everyone to see. “I _told_ you he was ignoring me!”

“Aha!” Another person said happily. “Pay up, Bruce!”

“I give you the benefit of the doubt, Clint, and you screw me over.”

“Only because Steve told you he wouldn’t do it, and everyone knows that Steve is a filthy, stinking liar.”

“You must be mistaken, Bruce. I never said such things.”

“Lies, I tell you. You’ve got everyone fooled except for me. Tasha, arrest him!”

“I don’t interfere with the works of mere mortals like yourselves.”

I stared in shock as the small crowd gathered in the living room. Someone shut the front door, and the noise only grew. All together, there were five strangers chatting away, as mismatched as Barton’s furniture.

The first person that bursted in was gesturing wildly, deep in conversation with Barton, who didn’t look ruffled in the slightest. He stood out from the rest, dressed in a clean suit that looked like it cost more than everything I owned combined.

Closer to me was a curly-haired man in a– well, a veritable fashion disaster known as a sweater vest. He was shaking his head at a tall blond man with an innocent expression, the kind you wear when you _definitely_ did something annoying. And last but not least was a red-headed woman standing off to the side, engaged in a quiet conversation with a guy who was _way_ too tall for his own good. If I didn’t know better, I’d say those two were scheming.

I seriously considered grabbing my shoes and sneaking out of the room, but before I could make a move, the red-head’s eyes locked on me. Her eyebrows knit together, and then I _very much felt like high-tailing it out of here_.

She nudged the man next to her, whose head swiveled around a bit before settling in my direction. For a moment he seemed confused, but then his face lit up in excitement.

“Clint!” He called out loudly, halting the other conversations in place. “You’ve decided to adopt!”

“ _What?!”_ Barton and I exclaimed in unison, glancing at each other.

“Bold choice, buddy.” The man in the suit clapped Barton on the shoulder. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re surprised that you willingly accepted any form of responsibility, but we’re happy.” He squinted at me. “Though this one seems a bit… worse for wear.”

“No– guys, she’s not–” Barton spluttered.

“Congrats, Clint,” the blond dude said. He smiled at me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Steve, by the way. I’m sure Clint’s mentioned us at least once or twice.”

“Uh…” I trailed off, glancing around the room at their expectant faces. “I don’t… know you. Like… at all.”

Suit-dude shrugged. “Well, we were kinda busy having _no freaking idea you existed_. Usually friends give friends a warning if they’ve suddenly decided to adopt a child.”

“I’m not a child,” I protested. “And I’m not even–”

“I didn’t adopt anybody!” Barton interrupted. “Guys, this is Gale. Gale, these are my sad excuses for friends.” The red-head cleared her throat, and Barton hastily amended his statement. “Except for Tasha, she’s an angel and we’re thrilled to have her here.”

Tasha looked appeased. The group seemed to collectively let out a breath. I took it that she was the unofficial-official leader of the group. Or at least the one they were the most frightened of.

Sweater-Vest still seemed perplexed. “So…” he started, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “You didn’t adopt the random child sitting on your couch.”

“Right,” Barton sighed. “It’s– she’s–”

“I’m homeless,” I cut in plainly, addressing the group. “And your friend was nice enough to let me sleep on his couch last night, on account of the weather.”

Some of them looked confused. Some of them looked like they just didn’t want to press further. And Tasha was staring at me. I shifted nervously. Her eyes narrowed, and in that moment I understood exactly how butterflies felt when they were pinned in a box.

“Eggnog?” Barton hesitantly offered, breaking the spell. There was a chorus of agreements, and the party bustled to the kitchen.

As I watched them cluster around each other, Barton lagged behind a step. “You’ll get used to them,” he assured me, but doubt flickered over his features. “Eventually.”

_Oh, goody_. _God knows how many hours, trapped by the snow in a stranger’s house with said stranger’s friends holding a party full of complete strangers._

_Lord, get me out of here._

~~~

Barton’s friends ended up wandering around, holding small conversations that only lasted a few minutes before finding something else to occupy them. I stayed on the couch, Lucky curled up next to me. The TV was on– each person kept changing the channel when they passed by it. It went from archery to a WWII documentary, to Animal Planet, to sports, and pretty much everything in between.

One by one, Barton’s friends wandered over and tried to start a conversation. I say “tried” not because I was _intentionally_ being rude, but… well, it seems to be a default mode for me. And like I said before, no one remained in the same place for long. But for couple minutes, they seemed to be making a genuine effort to converse with me.

Dr. Banner was the first. He wasn’t a shy person, just a quiet one. And he seemed pretty surprised when I was able to speak intelligently with him about his work– not the physics stuff, but the medical things. Apparently kids my age didn’t know half of what he was saying. But Dr. Banner didn’t comment on it; instead he took it in stride. And when he left, I sat there thinking just how much he reminded me of someone. _Of an uncle, who seldom raised his voice and had such a soft heart you couldn’t help but wonder how people like him ever came to exist in the first place._

Steve seemed like he was born in a different century. He was polite, which was something rare for a guy who knew how good he looked. Steve asked me where I was from, what kind of music I played, if I knew any old songs. I told him I wasn’t born, I was spawned from the flames of hell; that I played anything that got me a buck; and old songs were the best songs, but kinda tricky to find acoustic covers for. Steve chuckled at that; I decided that he was a pretty decent dude.

Dr. Banner circled back at some point and tried to bring me into a debate about salsa ingredients with Stark, but I'd retreated to the kitchen to ransack Barton's fridge. There wasn't a lot of actually edible food, but I was hungry and I hadn't eaten breakfast, so a box of crackers and Cheese Whiz was looking pretty appetizing. I grabbed what I could carry and ran back to the couch- the safe spot for me amidst all the talking and noise.

An hour later, Tasha sort of appeared on the other end of the couch. She didn’t say much; we just watched a ballet on the television in mutual silence. Before she wandered back to the kitchen, though, she told me to keep my pocket knife clean or it would rust. The pocket knife which was in my backpack. Which was shoved under the armchair. Which no one had opened.

I decided to never speak ill of Tasha as long as I lived.

Stark took a less subtle approach. He stood directly between me and the TV until I looked up at him. His eyes were narrowed, and I thought he was going to either insult my clothes or spontaneously combust, but he only muttered “How do you _not_ recognize me?”. I eventually asked him who, in fact, he was; evidently, Mr. Anthony Stark was a genius who made his billions in clean, self-sustaining energy. _Which was actually really cool, but I didn’t let him know that._

Thor (who had an even weirder name than me) was the last to personally greet me, and arguably the most happy to be here. He bounded over, flopped down on the couch, switched the channel to an Australian weather report, and started off the conversation by asking me what a Twinkie was and why Barton was obsessed with them. And apparently his little brother wanted to know if Thor could find a bald eagle or a Texan (both were equal in mythological stature in the brother’s mind) and bring it back to Australia for him. I told Thor that: _a_ , bald eagles weren’t endangered but _very_ difficult to restrain; and _b_ , there were more guns in Texas than the rest of the nation combined, so trying to kidnap someone wasn’t the best of ideas. Thor looked so disappointed that I almost apologized.

At some point in the late afternoon, Lucky fell asleep with his head resting on my knees. A couple minutes later, Stark announced that the pizza was here (and was immediately voted to pay the bill). So I had two options: stay still so I don’t wake the dog, or become a monster.

Needless to say, Lucky had a nice, long nap.

Steve took pity on me and moved the pizza boxes within my reach. I thanked him loudly and said he was a true gentleman, unlike the other beholders of a Y-chromosome in the room. In the far corner, Tasha nodded in approval, so my chances of being murdered in my sleep went down a bit.

The afternoon melted into the evening, and Barton’s friends showed no signs of tiring. Eggnog was passed around so many times I lost count, and eventually, the mismatched group congregated in the living room.

“I’m telling you,” Steve was saying. “There’s nothing more annoying than a client who wants ‘cooler colors’, but also ‘more red, and more orange, and more gold while you’re at it’.”

Barton, who had claimed a seat on the other side of Lucky, leaned over towards me. “Steve’s an artist,” he explained as Stark launched into the retelling a detailed encounter with politician from Florida. “He does a lot of design work, and he’s not too bad with architecture. Take him to a museum and he’ll “get lost” in hopes of never going home.”

“Gale!” Stark called, and my head snapped up. He was looking at me expectantly. “Okay, so what do you think so far?”

“Uh, excuse me?” I raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to make of that vague question.

Stark sighed, and gestured around the circle. “What do you think of _us_? Are we the coolest people you’ve ever met? Am _I_ the coolest person you’ve ever met?” He waved a hand carelessly. “What am I saying, of course I am.”

I shrugged lightly. “If I’m being completely honest, I don’t really care.”

My words fell in the air; a ripple of unsure glances passed around the group. _Great. Once again, I have to explain myself_. “Look, I don’t exactly _want_ to be here,” I elaborated. “Yeah, you guys seems nice, and don’t get me wrong– I’m incredibly thankful that Barton offered me a place to sleep for the night. But I’ll be gone before tomorrow. I’m not staying here for the rest of my life; so I don’t really see the need to create opinions about this– about you.”

There was an awkward pause. I kept my eyes on the coffee table, but I could feel the others’ flickering towards me.

“How about we play a game?” Dr. Banner suddenly suggested, and the company all but pounced at the opportunity to be rid of the tension. I wasn’t sure what game they were choosing to play– I just sat there, on the couch, counting the minutes until I could leave.

_I’m only here for a couple more hours_ , I reminded myself as the conversation faded to a hum. _It’s only temporary._

_I’m only temporary._

~~~

It was half past eleven when the guests left.

As a more-than-slightly-buzzed Stark stumbled out, Barton shut the door, locked it, and promptly sagged against the wall.

“Is that the last one?” I mumbled, head tipping back. Lucky had slid halfway off the couch, eye partly closed.

“Yup.” Barton sighed, rubbing his face. “I love my friends, but they can be…”

“Exhausting,” I finished. My own eyes were slipping downwards now. I could feel my lungs slowing, like they were gradually turning to stone with each breath. I didn’t even realize Barton had spoken until his hand was waving in front of my face.

“Kid, you look worse than I do,” Barton told me, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re dead on your feet.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m awake, I’m awake,” I muttered, about to force myself to move.

“Whoa, it’s okay,” Barton shushed me, waving me back. “I take it you don’t get many full nights of sleep.”

_You don’t know how right you are_ , I wanted to reply, but my brain was already shutting down.

“Just get some rest, kiddo.”

_Don’t say it like that_ , I tried to tell him _. Don’t say it like I’m staying._

_I’m only temporary._

The next morning was clear. The snow had been plowed off the sidewalks; perfect to walk a couple of miles through.

I managed to pull on my shoes and weave around the snoring dog, careful not to make a sound. Slinging on my backpack (and making sure I had everything in it), I gently lifted my guitar case up, and headed for the door.

It shut quietly behind me. Outside, I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, the frosty air stinging the bare skin. Without much ado, I walked down the concrete steps and onto the sidewalk. I’d only gotten a few paces when I realized with a sudden clarity that I already missed the warmth, and the pile of blankets, and the happy dog fast asleep on top of them.

 _But I couldn’t waste my time on daydreams_ , I scolded myself. _This is the real world. Wake up, Gale. You don’t get nice things. You get reality._

 _“_ Not even gonna say goodbye, huh?”

Barton’s voice rang out in the Christmas morning air, clear as a bell. I turned around to see him standing in his doorway, leaning against the wood just he’d been the first time I saw him. Hands in his pockets, watching me with a calm eye.

I decided to reply. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” I called back.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Barton nodded, looking up at the sky. He didn’t say anything for a second, so I started to turn back, but his voice stopped me again. “It’s pretty cold,” Barton continued.

“I guess,” I replied after a beat. “But that’s winter.”

“Hm,” he hummed. For a moment he was lost in thought, but his focus reeled back to me. “You know, I ordered more coffee with my rich friend’s credit card. Wanna come inside and have some while I ignore his voicemails?”

My eyes fell from Barton to the old guitar case in my hands, to my white knuckles clutching the handle– not white from tension, but because I was always cold, and warmth was so hard to find.

Barton was waiting. “So?” He asked. “You in? Afterall-” he cracked a grin. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, I’m in.”

Author's Note: I know, this was way too long to read. I just figured you guys deserved something nice before everything comes crashing down in hellflames. Also, just to clarify: for all of you who’re familiar with Ryan and Felix, no, they don’t exist in the same continuity as Gale. The idea for them to meet just popped into my head, and I figured why not. So I’m sorry, to everyone who got their hopes up about a certain curly-haired boy being… well, back from the grave.

On a side note, I've decided to take this whole "writing online" stuff one step further. Recently, I've been getting a lot of messages about writing in general: how to make characters realistic, how to brush up on grammar, how to keep a plot interesting. I've even had a few people ask me to give my opinion on their own stories. So I figured that one thing I could do to help would be to set up a site where all of you could come with your questions concerning writing. Don't worry, you can still message me on Quotev; the Classroom is just to get other readers and writers with the same problems in contact, so hopefully they can work everything out and learn something in the process.

Here's the code: **rq4813**

This is literally the only place where I'm putting the code, so anyone in the Classroom either reads my stories or has a friend that does. In case you're worried about privacy or whatnot, like I said earlier: you can still message me here.

(and I'm still working out the ins and outs of Google Classroom, so bear with me if it's a little bumpy)

AND HAPPY NON-DENOMINATIONAL WINTER HOLIDAYS!


	42. Defend us

_“This is taking too long,” Aeron muttered._

_I nearly jumped at the sound; Ray’s wind-work was a little too good. Even though Aeron was nowhere in sight, it sounded as if he was leaning directly over my shoulder._

_I heard a scoff follow Aeron’s words. “Then go ahead,” Ray shot back. I couldn’t see her face, but she sounded royally annoyed. “Charge right in. Get yourself killed. Then maybe we’ll get a replacement who can actually shut up.”_

_There was a soft hiss, like a candle flame springing up, and Aeron grumbled something inaudible. A sharp pop made me wince, hands flying up to rub my ears. “Language,” Ray said coolly. “Next time your eardrums might… be put out of commission.”_

_I sighed, eyes temporarily shut in exasperation. My breath turned to steam in the cold night air. I was standing on the crest of a small hill. The grass under my boots had long been frosted over; the blades broke in my footsteps with a dry crackle. Even though it was just past two in the morning, I was wide awake. A couple of cups of coffee and the freezing air weren’t unhelpful. But even as I stood there, trying my best to tune out the voices of the squabbling teenagers, goosebumps prickled on my bare arms._

_If I were here for any other reason, I would’ve worn a coat. But Konstantin said I should be more comfortable in the cold; he said that over time I wouldn’t even notice the chill, not with the side effects of my legacy. But for now, I had to wait in the middle of nowhere, wearing only a t-shirt and loose pants that didn’t defend against the weather. The heaviest thing I had were my boots, which were given to me after that last time_ _I attempted what I was supposed to do now._

_Yeah, last time I broke an ankle. Not looking forward to repeating the incident tonight._

_“Hey shorty!” Aeron called out, jolting me out of my thoughts. “You watching the grass grow or what?”_

_Forcing back a string of rude words I definitely wasn’t supposed to know, I took a deep breath before replying. “I can’t whip up a wind out of nowhere,” I said, gritting my teeth. “You know that.”_

_“Konstantin can,” Aeron sniffed. “Don’t see how it’s different for you.”_

_“Because–” I shut my eyes again, counted to five, and continued. “It’s not even my fault. If Ray’s information is correct–”_

_“If?” The girl asked incredulously. “Watch your mouth, kid–”_

_“–then there should be a strong wind crossing this hill any minute now,” I finished, glaring at an innocent blade of grass. “Until then, try to come to terms with your own idiocy.”_

_“All- **right**!” Ray cut in before Aeron could shout a crude response. “Let’s go over the plan, okay? Gale, when you **finally** get to the roof, you open the door for us. Aeron, you and I enter on the opposite side from Sten, but once we find the data room, we grab what we need and get out. Sten, you–”_

_Ray paused for a beat. “Sten,” she said, clipping her words. “Why can I hear voices on your end?”_

_“No reason,” Sten hastily replied. “None at all.”_

_There was a loud sigh. “I’m going through the **plan** , Sten. What were you watching?”_

_“Uh…” he mumbled. “’How To Train Your Dragon’.”_

_“Way to go, lumberjack,” Aeron snickered, my previous insult apparently forgotten. “Why separate Movie Night and Stakeout Night when you can tick off Ray in the process?”_

_**The grass blades rustled.**_

_My focus instantly snapped to the air around me. Holding my breath, I quickly held a hand out palm-up. There was a tickle at my fingertips– a shiver of silver flickered around my knuckles. In the back of my mind, I heard the faintest tinkle of a laugh._ _It smelled like frost._

_A north wind._

_The grin that pulled at my face was irresistible. I curled my fingers into a fist, trapping the sliver of wind in my hand like the string of a kite. In one swift movement, I crouched down and pushed off the ground with every ounce of force I possessed– and with the silver thread in my hand, heaved myself upwards._

_The air crashed around me and seized on my bare skin. I rose into the air, wobbling for a second, but the moment I passed the treetops, the free wind hit me like a sea wave at shore. As I went higher and higher, still holding the wind-tail tight, my heartbeat fluttered light as a feather; it trembled in my chest like a captive bird, straining to free itself so hard I thought it would slip through my throat and out my mouth to join the clouds._

_An elated laugh bubbled up in me; the grin on my face stretched from ear to ear as I glanced below me only to see the grassy hill fall further away, fading into the patchwork ground. The trees seemed like paint brushes below me, the clouds above like silk so thin it was near transparent._

_And far, far above my head were stars. Pinpricks of diamonds, sewn into the night like pearls to midnight-black satin. They glittered, brushed across the sky in broad swathes. When I focused on one for more than a second, it pulsed in and out of existence, toying with my imagination. And if I strained my ears, I could almost hear them– but they had no voices, as the wind did. Instead, they rang out in the front of my mind, a foreign cross between a violin and a flute: clear as crystal and nine times as full._

_“–Gale? Gale!” Ray’s voice grated in my ear, the sound harsh compared to the hush of wind and the notes of stars._

_“What?!” I snapped, not at all pleased that she’d interrupted my flight._

_“I’ve got a rise in altitude on you,” Ray growled. “Mind telling us why I’m aware of it_ **_now_?”**

_“I’m in the air,” I shot back, even though my irritation was rapidly fading. The cold wind was like a balm on my skin; it whisked away the merest thought of discomfort. “Beautiful night– not that you care.”_

_“Well, I’d care a lot more if you hurried yourself over to the roof and **did what you’re supposed to do.”** Ray’s voice was bitter– I wondered if Aeron had done something or if I was the sole cause of her frustration._

_But I knew why I was here, and I couldn’t back out now._

_I slowly arched backwards, tilting my body to the clouds and the wind and the stars for one last moment. Then I twisted over, and pulled myself to the east, no longer ascending but soaring parallel to the ground._

_The pine trees flashed by as I shot through the sky. Miles and miles of forest rolled out from horizon to horizon with no sign of breaking until–_

_A speck of light appeared in the distance. I immediately angled upwards again, looking to gain more altitude before I reached it._

_The clouds were low tonight– I was only a handful of yards away from touching them when I stopped in mid-air. Below me was a series of concrete buildings, square and uniform in all aspects save for size. There was a fence around the perimeter. I counted two checkpoints from the dirt road that went from the center of the compound all the way in the woods, where it disappeared from view._

_I sized up the largest building. Ray’s diagrams showed five floors, not counting the underground sectors. The data dump we were looking for was on the third level– exactly in the middle._

_’Smart,’ Sten had said when we looked over the sketches. ‘No matter which way we come from, there’s at least two floors to fight through.’_

_Aeron had elbowed Sten for that and called him a pessimist. Sten elbowed Aeron back. The mission had been delayed a week while Aeron’s bruises faded._

_But as I hovered directly above the building, my eyes flickered around the compound. Ray and Aeron were waiting just outside the perimeter, while Sten was all the way to the west._

_“Anytime soon,” Ray reminded me._

_Biting back a retort, I took a deep breath– and cut every scrap of wind supporting me._

_I dropped through the air like a stone, the roof of the building growing dangerously large. At the last second, I wove a cushion of wind below me. It slowed my descent just enough, and I landed on the gravel roof with a thud. The impact rang through my legs, and I gritted my teeth at the ache._

_Without wasting another second, I hurried over to a set of antenna, and kneeled by the small metal box at the base. Opening it, I wiggled a breeze between my fingers and flicked it towards the wires inside. It took a couple tries to cut through them completely– sharpening winds was a trick I’d just learned was possible– but on the third attempt, the wires split in half._

_“And– ooh, there we go,” Ray’s voice crackled in my ear. “Sten, head towards the rear entrance. Me and Aeron’ll get there in a minute, tops.”_

_“And I’ll… just…” I trailed off, looking around at the desolate roof. “Stand here.”_

_“You’re done, Gale,” Ray dismissed me. “Fly back. We can handle this from here.”_

_Her voice went quiet after that. From the roof, I could see two dark figures heading towards the fence. There was a quick flash of light, like a candle flame, and then they slipped through the barrier and hurried toward the main building. On the opposite side of the compound, a part of the fence shivered as the ground beneath shook ever so slightly._

_That was it. The rest of them were inside. Now all I needed to do was stand here, completely useless, I suppose._

_"Figures," I muttered, kicking at the gravel. "Everybody loves to have a flying buddy, but the moment they've done their bit, kick 'em out of the party!"_

_Letting out a heavy sigh, I rolled my head back and stared up at the sky. The clouds were gathering overhead, blocking out some of the brightest stars. Even from all the way down here, I could feel the ebb and flow of wind. It was like some part of me was still holding onto that kite string, was still aching to fly away from this human world._

_' **Their** world', Konstantin had said to me many times. 'This is a **human** world, Hyri, and you are not. We are something entirely different, and someday, we'll let the humans see. Then the world will settle to one side, and I don't think it will forsake our people a second time.'_

_"Red and gold," I said softly, glancing down at my hands. There was no mark, no blemish, no outward sign that would scream 'inhuman' to any passerby. Yet there were thousands of books in Konstantin's library that said otherwise, that spoke of golden castles and a hunter dressed in grey; every one of us could trace ourselves back to him. Not for the first time, I entertained the thought of living to meet Ullr- of what I'd say, how he'd respond, what he'd think of our community. I couldn't wait to see how proud he'd be._

_Then the thought passed, and I was left alone on a rooftop. Biting back a curse, I tried my best to not be so angry- but I hadn't given Ray any reason to treat me like a toddler, and in any case she wasn't letting anyone have a word in otherwise-_

_"Screw this!" I jogged to the maintenance door and fed a sliver of wind between the frame and the lock. Increasing pressure on in, I forced the air to move out instead back-_

_**Pop!**_

_With a triumphant grin, I slipped inside the building._

_I'd memorized the layout of the compound as soon as I could. It's not like I was going to start this mission blind, right? And in all honesty, I could get this whole job done by myself._

_Heading down the dingy hallway, I took a left- and threw myself back behind the corner before the guard at the end could notice me. Sucking a breath in through my mouth, I waited on edge for a couple of seconds. After some time had passed with no indication that I'd been seen, I chided myself for my shortsightedness, and moved on to figuring out how to get past him._

_He was standing directly in front of the stairs, without another soul in sight. There weren't any other doors I could pop through- just twenty feet of open space between me and the stair well. But if my memory served me right, then there was a corridor that joined this hallway at a 'T' right in front of the guard. Now all I had to do was get him to move for ten seconds._

_**Please.** I didn't even need to look._

_I wrapped a little breeze around my finger, and shot it around the corner at the guard. His feet shuffled, but didn't move. He probably thought it was just the air conditioning. So I took another deep breath, closed my eyes, and pushed the breeze away from him, down the other corridor. It rattled against the walls, making the panels creak. Now **that** got the guard's attention._

_As soon as I heard him walking the other way, I ran as fast as I could go without making too much noise for the stairs. Carefully opening the door so I could slip through, it quietly clicked shut just as the guard began heading back to his original post. Without waiting for him to check in here, I hurried down the steps towards the third level._

_Once I reached level three, I was sure to peek my head out to catch any guards; I wasn't perfect, but Lord knew I was a quick learner._

_The coast was clear. I edged out of the stairwell and shut the door behind me. Okay, now the data room should be around the next corner, to the right-_

_" **Pukta!** " _

_I ran into something very solid, and very angry. Instinctively grabbing the nearest wisp of air around me, I was fully prepared to fight whatever guard had just-_

_"Whoa whoa whoa!" Aeron held his hands up, staring at Ray (who looked like she very much wanted to gouge my eyes out). " **Language** , Ray, oh my sweet Lord, watch your mouth."_

_She turned to him with fury in her eyes, pointing a finger in his face. "I'll say whatever the **mandu**_ _I want, you **pe-channas puntl,** mother- **mukgorn** -"_

_Aeron's fingers sparked. "Don't you dare-"_

_"What are you doing here?" I interrupted them, whispering harshly._

_With a more preferable target in range, Ray abandoned Aeron and locked onto me. "I told you to fly back, kid," she growled. "You're jeopardizing this entire mission."_

_"Last time I check, no one made you leader," I fired back. "You don't control me."_

_"I'm the only one with an ounce of common sense!" The girl hissed, raising a hand as if to slap me. I didn't move an inch._

_Aeron huffed impatiently. "Look, while you guys are hashing this out, I'm just gonna get the file we need." He walked briskly around the corner and out of sight before Ray or I could blink._

_"Aeron!" She raised her voice, and I winced- if none of us could keep it together long enough, we'd be spitting bullets by the time the night was through. "Aeron, get back here!"_

_"Chill, I got this," his voice wafted back to us._

_Ray and I looked at each other, and finally agreed on something: **No, he most definitely did not have this.**_

_I sprinted around the corner and towards the open door a few paces away, Ray on my heels._

_The data room was... depressing. The computers belonged in the nineties, the keyboards in the seventies, and the rows of file cabinets were tall enough to reach the ceiling. Bill Gates was probably weeping somewhere._

_Aeron was bending over one of the computers, his undivided attention on the screen. "Hey, so there's a bunch of different files labeled under "W", and I'm way too lazy to go through all of them-"_

_"Move." Ray shoved Aeron out of the way and fumbled at the keyboard for second. She slowly typed something in, cloudy eyes narrowed in concentration. I almost offered to help her, but then realized that she could rot in Muspelheim for all I cared, blind or not. "Alright," Ray eventually said. "Whatever row is on the screen, that's where the file will be. Aeron, please tell me you still have the scanner."_

_"Sheesh, so bossy," Aeron muttered, peering at the screen. "Okay, we're looking for row 38, the drawer labeled..." He frowned, trailing off._

_**We didn't have time for this**. I walked past Aeron, snatched the small scanning device from his hand, and started counting rows._

_"How do you pronounce this?" Aeron asked out loud, still befuddled by whatever he was reading. "Is this a typo?"_

_Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two..._

_"Sure, Aeron, ask the blind girl how to read something."_

_Thirty-six, thirty-seven-- thirty-eight. I marched down the row, eyes flickering over the paper cards marking each cabinet. "I need to know what I'm looking for," I called back, irritated with Aeron's apparent ineptitude._

_"Hold your horses, rugrat. It's... Wa- wakanda? Wakanda?" The Scottish boy tried. "Yeah, I think it's Wakanda."_

_"Okay," I muttered, looking for that probably made-up name. "Let's see... Warpath... Walker... War Machine... Wakanda!"_

_I yanked open the drawer and, to my surprise, saw only one single folder. Nevertheless I grabbed it; the file was far too light for my own liking. Against my better judgement, I flipped the folder open and looked at the first page._

_WAKANDA_

_Current ruler: King T'Chaka_

_Location: East Africa_

_-note- contact: Ulysses Klaue_ , _breakthrough in vibr-_

_"Gale!" Ray snapped. "We're here to grab the file, not to read it!"_

_I rolled my eyes, but closed the file and the drawer. But just as I was about to head back, the door swung open with a **bam!**_

_"Freeze!" The guard shouted, raising his gun. His eyes shot around the room, taking the the three teenagers dressed in in all black and pretty stupid expressions._

_"Aeron," Ray muttered out of the corner of her mouth._

_"Shut up!" The guard ordered, aiming the gun at Ray now. "Nobody move, you hear me?" He reached for a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt._

_" **Aeron** ," Ray insisted, louder._

_"Right, right," Aeron sighed, raising a hand. His index finger lit up, the flames casting angled light over his cheeks. A devilish look appeared on his face as he smirked at the guard, whose eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "Hold still, buddy, and this might not hurt as bad-"_

_The guard spun around and ran out the door. Aeron watched him go, surprise written on his features. "Well whadda ya know?" He said. "Turns out we didn't need to kill him."_

_Ray and I both turned to Aeron with murder on our minds, just as the lights overhead switched to red, and an alarm began ringing in the hall._

_Aeron winced. "Oops."_

_"I'm gonna kill you!" Ray yelled, and bolted towards the door. I was right behind her, but the moment her foot crossed outside the room a shot rang out. Ray jerked backwards- right into me- and we went sprawling to the floor._

_Aeron threw himself under one of the desks. "Where's Sten?!"_

_Numerous feet pounded down the hall- Ray had her hands pressed to the floor. "Ten men, more on their way," she muttered. "Sten should be just around the-"_

_" **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!** " _

_There came a deafening scream from outside. I popped my head up just in time to see a blur of black and blonde hair go hurtling past the door and into the mass of guards approaching from the other end._

_**BANG BANG BANG-**_

_**-THUD-** _

_**-OOF-** _

_**-bang BANG-** _

_**-crunch-** _

_Someone shrieked, and then all was quiet (save for the repeating alarm blaring through the building)._

_Sten poked his head in. There was something red in his hair- and I knew for a fact that he'd changed the dye to blue last week. "Idiots," he muttered, walking inside. "Who let them raise the alarm?"_

_I jerked my thumb at Aeron, who was still cowering under the desk. Scraping to my feet, I picked up the file from the ground and dusted it off. "That would be Wonder Boy over there."_

_"Well, Sten was supposed to make sure the guards never got that close!" Aeron protested. "I'm not responsible for him!"_

_"Guys?" Ray spoke up, face eerily blank._

_"If you hadn't messed up-"_

_"-can't get past your thick skull-"_

_"GUYS!" Ray shouted, and the boys fell quiet. Her head turned towards the door, and a flicker of fear crossed her face. "They've cut us off," she said quietly. "Roof, ground level, stairs- everything."_

_I shook my head. "Air ducts, I can send a breeze ahead to find the route-"_

_"They have PEPs," Ray interrupted._

_My heart seized._

_PEP: Pulsed Energy Projectile. Weapons originally designed for riot control, meant to knock a person off their feet and keep them down. For normal people, they hurt like Helheim. But for us Teneo? For me? It was a thousand times worse._

_PEPs used electromagnetic radiation. It's nasty for anybody, but... my people didn't react to it well. Meaning the non-lethal aspect wasn't so harmless. One direct hit from a PEP and any one of us- including Sten- might not get back up. Radiation conflicted with our legacies- it was like sticking a fork inside the microwave._

_"You're sure?" I asked, throat dry. "You could be mistaken-"_

_"I know the make and model of every weapon those guards are holding." Ray's voice was tense; even she was panicking at the prospect of facing the guards. "At best, we die. At worst..."_

_She didn't need to finish her sentence. Konstantin had been clear: no prisoners- for either side._

_I heard people marching towards us. Their footsteps pounded as loud as my heartbeat, growing closer with every passing moment. Sten's hands were clenched in fists at his sides. "There has to be a way out," he insisted. "I'm not dying in this room."_

_**I am**_ **,** _a thought whispered in the back of my mind._

_"We could call someone," Aeron said hesitantly._

_Ray snorted. "Like who? We're running out of time."_

_The army of guards was right outside in the hallway, I could hear them breathing. Someone shouted an order, and the safety clicked off twenty rifles. Aeron flinched at the sound. Sten raised his fists. Ray closed her eyes._

_**Lord, please, make it quick** , I prayed. **I want to see my mother.**_

__

_**SHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIICK!!**_

_My eyes shot wide. The three others were just as startled as I was. None of us dared to move, to blink, to even think._

_Then a single pair of footsteps clicked on the floor, slowly, and a lone figure appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a cold gray suit, blonde hair combed back, eyes narrowed... Konstantin gestured to the hall with a flick of his hand._

_No one wanted to be the first one out the door, but an angry Konstantin was worse than a displeased Konstantin. Ray stepped into the hall, followed by Sten. I clenched my hands to keep them from shaking, and walked out of the room._

_The hallway was littered with bodies. They'd been killed standing, that much was obvious. Dead before they hit the floor. Some of them had bruises and limbs bent in ways that they shouldn't- Sten was never one to be gentle- but the more recent ones, the guards who blood was still spreading over the floor, whose bodies and faces were cleaved apart... those were **his**._

_And **he** wasn't happy._

_The four of us lined up, backs to the wall. Between Aeron and Sten, I'd never felt so small. I couldn't see Ray, but there was a tremor in the air that made my skin prickle._

_Konstantin's hands were clasped behind his back. He looked as he always did: completely in charge of the situation, completely in charge of us._

_"This was a simple mission." His voice was steady with no discernible emotion; it frightened me more than his stony expression. "You had your orders. Yet each and everyone of you **spectacularly** failed."_

_Surely Konstantin could hear my heart battering against me chest, surely he could feel the shame around us four like a damp fog._

_"You all knew what you had to do," Konstantin continued. "And somehow there was no clear leadership, the surveillance abandoned their post, the brawn was late to the party, and someone let the guards raise the alarm. Tell me," he tilted his head, eyes locking with each of ours briefly before passing to the next. "Why?"_

_"We can do better," Ray said quietly, voice trembling. "We're a team-"_

_“You’re a disaster,” Konstantin said sharply. “Ray, you refuse to go anything but your own pace. Sten, you ignore every word your teammates say. Aeron, you seem incapable of holding your patience- and your tongue. And Gale–”_

_One of the men lying on the floor suddenly let out a wet gurgle. He lifted a hand towards the four of us in desperation. Without sparing a glance, Konstantin flicked a single finger in the man’s direction._

_FFFFFEEEEE–_

_A red line split the man’s throat with a piercing whistle. His eyes bulged, hands scrabbling to his neck, but no sound emerged from his gaping mouth. The man’s chest shook once, twice– and ceased to move again._

_“Gale, you think you can accomplish everything by yourself,” Konstantin continued without skipping a beat, as if he hadn’t just ended a man’s life with a twitch._

_To my right, Aeron was staring straight ahead at the wall. His body was so rigid it seemed all his bones would break down the middle. Then the boy's throat bobbed up and down, gulping down his fear._

_But even though Konstantin was speaking and I knew I should look up, I couldn’t tear my gaze from the man’s face. His own eyes had since gone still, but they were locked on me. And all I could see was the dark red spilling over the floor; in this light, it was nearly black, just like–_

_“Gale!” Konstantin snapped._

_I jumped to attention, heart freezing. **Let it be quick.**_

_His eyes narrowed. “Pay attention,” he warned me. “Now, as for all of you… let’s hope you aren’t wasting my time.”_

_The implied threat hung in the air like a noose. None of us dared to look him in the eye. Konstantin sighed, and jerked his head to the door. “Get to the plane. We’re leaving.”_

_Nobody talked on the way back._

_The plane rumbled as it cut through the sky. Every now and then the cabin would shake, and from the windows, the wings would visibly shudder. The thick clouds make it impossible to see the ground from here– they were like a second sea, rolling plumes of fog and smoke seeping over the sky._

_The moment she got on board, Ray vanished into the cockpit, preferring to brood in silence with the pilot, who had a silver pin in the shape of winged sandal fastened to his jacket. Silverfoots were like that; they stuck to their own like glue._

_Aeron and Sten had taken seats on opposite ends of the cabin. The former was staring out the window, obviously unsettled by the night’s events. His hands were wrapped around an untouched cup of tea– even though it’d been poured an hour ago, steam rose from the top defiantly; a flicker of orange skittered around the mug before returning to the boy’s fingers._

_Not a single trace of emotion cracked through Sten’s carefully designed neutrality. He’d brought out a small lump of metal from his pockets and was molding it in his hands. But as soon as it gained any form at all, he crushed it in one hand and started over._

_I’d chosen a spot in the middle, pressed up against the wall. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to the others; I just tried to figure out how mad Konstantin was– and what I’d have to do to prove I wasn’t a failure._

_The partition between our cabin and Konstantin’s suddenly slid open with a click. The three of us immediately sat upright, laser focused on the doorway._

_Konstantin stood there, not a stray hair out of place. For a moment he said nothing, just looking out into the cabin. The air grew so heavy I thought the next movement would make it shudder and change shape like the metal in Sten’s hands._

_Then his blue eyes settled on me. “A moment, if you’d be so kind,” he said softly, and turned back to his cabin._

_I could feels Aeron’s and Sten’s eyes rooted on my back as I stood up, smoothed the wrinkles from my shirt, and started walking towards the door. Every step was as jarring as my heartbeat; there was a lump in my throat that grew with each passing moment. Each breath seemed to turn bitter cold in my lungs, and I felt a sting in my chest, as if someone had reached down my throat and nicked it with a scalpel._

_Through the doorway, I could see Konstantin seated in his usual chair, papers neatly stacked on the table surface in front of him. He didn’t speak, didn’t give any sign of what he was thinking. He simply nodded at the seat directly across from him, a ice blue curl pulsing on the back of his hand, twisting and glistening sharply in the light._

_**Angels and ministers of grace, defend us** , I prayed, and shut the partition behind me._

_When I came back out an hour later, Ray had taken my old seat by the window. She and Sten were conversing in low tones, while Aeron had pulled out a notebook and was scribbled something down. The unease had partially faded from the boy’s face, now that sufficient time had passed._

_Sten’s eyes widened when he saw me, straightening his back. Ray broke off in the middle of her sentence, whirling around. Her cloudy eyes were staring straight at me, something that normally would’ve unsettled me, but right now? I could barely focus on anything outside of my head._

_“Gale?” Aeron asked, no hint of his usual bitter edge. The pen fell from his hand, clattering against the table. The corners of his mouth were pulled tight in concern– not for me, he’d never be concerned for me, but for himself. “What… what did he say? Is he still mad?”_

_I sunk into the nearest chair before my knees had a chance to buckle. Glancing back up at Aeron, I shook my head slowly._

_“You’re as pale as a ghost.” Sten frowned. “Sure he’s not angry?”_

_“He wanted to see if I knew what I’d messed up,” I said quietly, my throat aching a bit. “If I knew what I could improve on next time.”_

_The three others let out a collective breath, relaxing in their seats. “So there’ll be a next time,” Ray muttered. “Good.”_

_I hummed in agreement, leaning back in the chair as the fatigue began to set in. Between the botched mission, and failing **everything** , I was ready to drop dead. Glancing around the cabin, my eyes fell on Aeron’s notebook. “What’re you writing?” I nodded at it._

_“Oh, this?” Aeron picked up his pen and tapped it on the page. “I’m trying to figure out which echelon I’m gonna try out for. I’m thinking Stormcaller, or maybe buddying up with Sten in the Ironbloods. Although, taking tonight into account, I might as well be a Siphon,” he muttered._

_“Don’t say that,” Ray said sharply. “Konstantin hand-picked each and every one of us because we’re ten steps ahead of the rest. Being echelon-less isn’t a possibility. Besides,” she sniffed, “Siphons are the dregs of our community. One day, we’ll be giving them the orders, not the Council.”_

_“Bold words,” I replied, trying to work a little confidence into my voice. “Konstantin can’t surpass the Council, he doesn’t have the-”_

_My lungs seized, making a cough spit past my lips. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe– something twisted in my chest, sharp as a knife. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain dissipated._

_“Gale? You good?” Sten was halfway out of his seat, ready to jump to aid._

_I nodded, eyes watering. “Sorry,” I rasped. “Choked on my own breath.”_

_Sten seemed to be satisfied with that answer, and settled back into his chair. He and Ray resumed their previous conversation, less furtively as before. But Aeron’s eyebrows were drawn, focus locked on my face._

_“You’ve got something right here.” He gestured to his mouth, and I raised my hand to my lips. They came away red._

_Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled the hem of my shirt up and wiped my mouth. Not for the first time, I thanked my lucky stars that blood didn’t show on black._

_I turned to my right, and brought my legs up on the seat, curled up like a cat. Through the window, I could see the moonlight skipping over the tops of the clouds, overruling the stars. But just as I began to let my mind wander, a flash of motion caught my eye._

_A thread of pale blue trailed down the wall and snaking over the floor, pulled like a string on a kite back under Konstantin’s door._

_For the first time, I felt panic bubble up in my mind when I realized that I’d have to face Konstantin again. And for the first time, I didn’t want to know why I felt afraid. Still, even as I gazed out at the open sky, I couldn’t help but send a prayer to clouds and the stars._

_**Angels and ministers of grace, defend us**._

Author's Note: On that happy note, I'd like to introduce you to someone new- my editor! She's fantastic, you should check out her stuff (warning: getting attached to her characters will go about as well as getting attached to mine). And... well, I'll let her speak for herself:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! GREETINGS FOOLISH MORTALS! WELCOME BACK!

But first, let me introduce myself. I am the co-editor of this story as well as a fan of its never-ending emotional heartbreak and trauma it brings upon us. Trust me, I've shed many tears while reading this story. 

Really, the point of this "chapter" is just to introduce myself and what I'll be doing. I myself don't necessarily write the chapters, but I do help come up with some plot points in this story, as well as Vera's other series on her site. I'll probably help out with some grammar or spelling checks along the way, but personally, I help my friend (the author) create new upcoming ideas for her stories. I've really enjoyed this tale ever since the beginning and I just couldn't believe how many views and reads it's gotten. Big thanks to my best friend for letting me be a part of this journey. Vera, when you read this, just know I'm still not over Felix or Ethan (If you've read her other amazing stories, you'll know.) 

I myself am I writer too and you can find me with my username Iann. I'm still working on my old story, just at the pace of a snail. If I were you, don't expect frequent updates with my stories. But, I'd really enjoy it if you check out my story and give some feedback. The next chapter to that is coming out soon.

Also, I'd be glad to answer any questions to this story. However, I will not be revealing any key spoilers since...y'know, spoilers. But I can assure you, the pain isn't going to stop anytime soon. 

Stay tuned folks.

Translations (everything is in Erui Lammen unless stated otherwise):

Pukta, mandu, pe-channas, puntl, mukgorn: (You don't want to know. Just assume they're really, _really_ bad words)


	43. One of them

Author's Note: Heads up, the indents on this chapter are miserably inconsistent; I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as I could, what with the four week wait and all. That being said, I sincerely hope you didn't think this chapter would be any better than the last.

One of things I'd kept from my time in the Teneo was the rhythm. I used to wake up every morning before most adults; the air was always colder before the sun rose. It was my favorite time to walk around. I liked the quiet and the solitude more than anything else. Before that last winter, my father did too.

This morning, like usual, I got out of bed while the sky was still dark. Over the years, I'd learned how to go through the motions of getting ready for the day while my brain was still shaking off the sleep. Today was no exception.

I did everything you'd expect: showered, brushed my teeth and hair, made sure no one was lurking in the corner to stab me while my back was turned, and so on and so forth. My head was still foggy when I got dressed, and I barely realized what I'd put on until I passed by the mirror and my heart stopped cold.

Black pants, grey top, blue blazer. Hair swept up, face resting neutral. A little gleam in the eye, peculiar enough to any passer-by to warrant a second glance.

I looked like Konstantin.

Without hesitating, I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and ignored the itch under my skin when I thought about what I saw in the mirror. About what I saw in myself.

By the time the sun slipped over the horizon, I'd neatly folded what little clothes were hung in my closet, and slipped on the only pair of sneakers I seemed to possess. Sneakers, because the boots felt too much like I was preparing for a flight, and when I could burst out of the room at any moment, I wanted to be as stationary as possible.

"JARVIS?" I spoke, my voice ringing out in the empty room.

"Yes, Gale?"

"When Stark wakes up, tell him I need to talk with him about yesterday."

"Of course. Is that all?"

"Warn me if any unscheduled guests arrive at the Tower."

"Usually Mr. Stark takes note of that, is there a specific-"

"Just let me know. That's all."

"Very well, Gale."

There was a backpack lying in the back of my closet. I'd noticed it before, but never thought much of it. Looking back on it, I didn't remember that I wasn't technically supposed to have items like that; SHIELD was careful not to let me have things I could use to escape. But, like everyone else, they hadn't predicted a sudden trip to Asgard, for which I'd need something to pack with.

Very carefully, I reached into the closet and grabbed the backpack. Setting it down on my bed, I stared at the motionless heap for a good two minutes. Then I went back to the closet, took the remaining clothes, and began to pack them away.

If I'm being honest, I couldn't tell you what I was thinking. Truthfully, I don't believe I was. But nevertheless, I rolled each shirt and sock- rolling them saved more space, and I was too familiar with packing my things to go- and nestled them inside the backpack. The boots, feeling heavier in my hands than I knew they were, were the last thing to slip inside before I zipped the bag up and tucked it behind the nightstand.

There was nothing else to do, nothing to busy myself with. The room was clean, the clothes were folded, the bed was made. I didn't have anything else to do.

_Sten would mock me_ , I realized as I sat down on the edge of the bed, sinking into the comforter. _He'd make fun of me for wearing such casual clothes in such a fancy room._

The thought made my chest ache. I hadn't thought about them in a long time; my life with those three seemed like a lifetime ago. And part of me still thought I'd wake up one morning in that room two floors above the library, with a window facing west and a wardrobe in blues and greys.

But Konstantin was here.

Hadn't he always been here? Slipping through the shadows, a flash of blond hair here, the edge of a pale breeze there. Hadn't he always been in the corner of my mind, whispering words that shimmered like ice? And hadn't I listened?

When was the last time I trusted someone? I know hadn't since Konstantin told me that trust always broke in the end. And when did I stop believing in the goodness of humankind? Was the first time he told me we were more than human, or was it the tenth?

I never feared much. I never have, and I never will. I was taught to stare things that crawl in the dark straight in the eye. Once you spend enough time living side by side fear, you forget its name. But I feared Konstantin- I knew better than to forget his cruelty.

_I knew better than to forget the scars in my lungs._

And even though his mere presence was like a hammer to a bell in my head, I knew with an oddly calm certainty that I wouldn't ever be the child I used to be. I'd never know what I could've been without him. Oh, I was terrified of what he could do, but there was no aspect of me that he hadn't changed.

There was no me without Konstantin. No me without his influence.

Yes, my father taught me honor and my mother taught me courage. Yes, Alexei taught me kindness. But Konstantin taught me relentlessness, because it is the only things he knows. And now it outweighs my kindness, my courage, my honor. I'm as relentless as he is.

_Konstantin would be proud._

As I exited the room, I left that sickening thought behind.

I made my way to the common room, sneakers rolling over the shiny floor. There wasn't a person in sight when I got there, but I didn't mind. I simply sat on one of the couches near the windows, and flicked a mote of wind between my fingers until it settled into a rhythmic pattern.

"Mr. Stark is awake, but he is gathering the others before he comes to the main room," JARVIS's voice echoed from overhead. "He believes any conversation regarding Mr. Vasiliev should include all parties."

"Do you know how long they're going to be?" I asked.

"Approximately five to ten minutes. Dr. Banner is currently buying coffee in the cafe across the street."

A frown creased my forehead. "Is our machine not working?"

JARVIS sounded as resigned as any AI could be. "It broke after the fifteenth pot last night. I believe Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers were in the lab past midnight discussing the... recent developments."

_Well, it's not like I expected this to go over smoothly._ "Alright then," I said aloud. "I can wait."

When the elevator finally dinged open, there wasn't a light expression to be found. Stark led the pack, his hair sticking on end as if he’d spent the entire night running his hands back through it in frustration. Rogers looked even less happy- his frown was all but permanent at this point. Behind the captain was Romanoff, dressed impeccably as usual with absolutely no trace of emotion on her face; I almost wished she showed her frustration, just so I wouldn’t have to second guess her thoughts too.

Then Barton slipped into the room, in the same purple hoodie and sweatpants as the day before. His eyes stayed rooted to the far wall, shadowing Rogers as the team walked down towards the couches. When he got there, he hesitated a moment before sitting on the other end of my couch.

Without skipping a beat, I got up and moved to a different spot. Barton didn’t say a word.

“Sorry I’m late!” Dr. Banner’s voice interrupted the wonderfully thick tension that was steadily building in the room. The scientist was carrying a tray of coffees in both hands, trying not to spill anything as he hurried over to join us. “You wouldn’t believe how busy that place gets in the morning…” He trailed off, glancing around the room. Clearing his throat, Dr. Banner tried to sound as normal as possible, which was like drawing a sun and hoping it’d chase away the rain.

"I got everyone their favorites," Dr. Banner offered as he set the tray of coffees down on the table. "Wasn't sure about you, Gale, so I decided on a latte."

I did my best to hide my grimace. _I hated milk in my coffee._ But I was taught to be polite, so I simply nodded, grabbed the paper cup, and let it rest in my hands.

Stark flopped down on the couch with a huff. "So, my emotionally repressed youngling-" he raised his cup at me- "why have you summoned us here? Wait- let me guess. Konstantin wants you dead and you're going to challenge him to a death match." He paused, nose scrunched up. "Nope. That was the _other_ mysterious psychopath from your past with crazy superpowers who talks like Shakespeare." He leaned over to Romanoff and whispered in a conspiring tone, "Between you and me, it's getting hard to keep track of all these dollar-store villains."

I glared at the man from across the coffee table. "This isn't a joke, Stark."

"Maybe not, but your communication skills certainly are," he fired back, unfazed by the situation. Stark spread his arms, gesturing to the ring of people. "Well? We're waiting. Enlighten us with your extremely relevant, previously withheld knowledge."

_Homicide is a crime_ , I reminded myself. _You will be caught._

 _Unless you're sneaky enough_ , a helpful thought piped up.

"Ain't got all day, pipsqueak."

_Poison_ , the thought cheerfully suggested. _Chinese food that's past the expiration date._

Ignoring the quite tempting methods of permanently deleting a person from one's life, I dove headfirst into the mess. "I need to know what the terms of your deal are," I addressed Stark directly. "Konstantin always has an ulterior motive behind whatever facade he assumes."

Stark shrugged casually. "He approached me about a month or two ago. Didn't mention anything about being part Asgardian-"

Rogers perked up, glancing at the billionaire. "They're not-"

"Technically Asgardian, I know, I know." Stark rolled his eyes. "Moving on. Blondie told me he was a businessman looking to expand his company to the good old US of A. His company was... private security, I think. In any case, he proposed an equal exchange: he got a foothold in America, and Stark Industries would get one in Russia. Even offered to provide his services for the Moscow branch- he said he could make sure no one got the wrong hands on Stark tech."

"A foothold," I repeated, running the words over in my head. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure; do you think I just sign every contract willy-nilly?"

But I'd already blocked Stark's voice out, memories flashing in my mind as the phrase rattled around. _A foothold._ "Outreach." Realization hit me like a sledgehammer. "He's expanding."

"Expanding?" Romanoff's eyebrows shot up. "Expanding what?"

My eyes flickered to hers, wide with the knowledge of what _exactly_ was going to happen. "Everything. He's-" A hand flew up to my mouth, as if the gesture could possibly keep the truth from spilling out.. "It's his endgame."

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down." Barton leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Rewind and explain, feather weight."

I took a breath and ran my hands over the cushions of the couch. "Like I told you yesterday," I began carefully. "Konstantin deals in influence. He has entire networks within our community, pulling the strings of people who think they're working for themselves. When I-" A cough seized my chest, and I broke off for a moment to catch my breath. "When I was on his team, he had us run these missions. We'd hit buildings, offices, homes- all for information. Most of the time I didn't even know what I was stealing, but Konstantin wanted it, and that was good enough for me."

Barton was staring down at the coffee table, expression stony as he mulled over my words. "So he wanted a contract with Tony in order to gain access to Stark tech and the American market. Which, if previous experience has anything to show, would be _really_ bad."

Romanoff shrugged, settling back into the couch with her feet pulled up close. "We could always take him out," she suggested casually, as if murder was on everyone's list of immediate solutions.

But I was already shaking my head. "No, you don't understand. You can't just _stop_ him."

"A stuck-up jerk in a suit and an encyclopedic knowledge of Shakespeare?" Stark scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Like we haven't faced worse."

" _No_ ," I insisted. The edge in my voice caught them- and me- by surprise. Stark shifted in his seat, but didn't respond. I could feel five pairs of eyes on me as I rubbed my hands together, fingertips tracing over imaginary lines across my skin. "Konstantin-" I broke off, trying to fight back the lump in my throat. "We both work with air, you know that much. But me... I can't _create_ wind. _He_ can."

"Wait..." Dr. Banner's brow was furrowed as he stared at me like I was something in one of his petri dishes. "You mean this entire time you can't really _make_ wind?"

I let out a long suffering sigh. "No, Dr. Banner, I can't. I can amplify it, change its course, even raise its temperature. But no matter what I'm capable, I ultimately _cannot_ create what isn't there to begin with. My legacy is broad, but Konstantin's is specific. He works breezes, whispers, snippets of air that he can conjure out of nothing. And he excels at sharpening them.”

The room stopped cold. Hands froze in midair, Romanoff’s eyes were locked on my figure. “ _Sharpening_ them,” she repeated in that deathly quiet tone of hers.

I gulped down the edge in my voice, the bitter one that arose whenever I spoke of him. “Like knives,” I said carefully. “Can cut through flesh, bone, wood, glass… metal." _There's still metal in me, silver and mercury._ "Nothing stands in his way for long."

“I take it you aren't an exception, are you?" Barton muttered darkly, still refusing to look at me.

Gritting my teeth, I set the coffee cup down before I crushed it in my hands. "No, I'm not. And neither are you." My eyes swept the room. " _Any_ of you. Konstantin is the center of every room. Every word you say, every thought you think- it all circles back to him whether you like it or not. He's _always_ one step ahead, leaving you no where to run but exactly where he wants you to. If he wants to talk, you're going to talk. If he wants to leave, you'll open the door for him. You-" I ran a hand back through my hair in frustration, leaning back into the chair. " _You can't win_. You can only minimize the losses."

Rogers was shaking his head, rubbing his hands together like he was getting ready to hit something. "I'm calling BS," he said firmly. "He's human, more or less. And humans can be beat."

"No!" I threw my hands up in the air, desperation leaking into my voice. Rogers' eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. "You guys don't get it, you can't _plan_ against him, he's always right there when you least expect it-"

_Ding!_

The elevator doors cheerfully popped open, and Konstantin stepped out.

Six sets of eyes snapped to the grey suited figure as he began slowing walking toward the cluster of couches, shoes clicking softly on the gleaming floor. His eyes reflected the sky streaming in from the windows, his hair shone gold underneath the lights, seeming to the world as if nothing had ever truly belonged in it except for him.

But the moment saw him, my heart crashed to a halt. It dropped like granite, shoving my gut out of the way as it shot to the floor. 

Konstantin blinked innocently, as if he didn't understand our shock. "I do think your security cameras are out," he said calmly.

"JARVIS?" Stark cut across him, glancing up to the ceiling.

"I- I apologize," JARVIS's voice issued from the hidden speakers. For the first time, the AI sounded... unsteady. "I'm not sure how he got through the lobby without me knowing."

There was an easy grin on Konstantin's face. "Well," he began, scratching idly at his wrist. "Thank heaven I know my way around this tower, no?"

"Why are you here?" I demanded, and Konstantin's attention snapped to me. Somehow I didn't crumble in the wake of it. 

"As I told you yesterday," he said with the barest of chuckles, as if I were a child again. "You've grown so much. I'd like to see what you've made of yourself."

Romanoff was on her feet before I could blink. "Sure," she said in a light tone. "Let's see how well that works out for you."

Konstantin slid his hands into his pockets, unfazed by Romanoff's clear threat. He kept his eyes on me, but they contained no hostility, no displeasure, nothing that would send me running from the room. "Nevertheless, I do wish to talk with you, Gale. Afterall," he said with a self-pleased smirk, "what's the phrase. Oh... It is a wise father that knows his own child."

_The Merchant of Venice_.

And with ten words, I'd fallen straight into our old patterns. "I..." I started, only to find my throat was bone dry. "I don't-"

"There's a small cafe just across the street," he smoothly interjected, turning toward the elevators. "A much more comfortable setting for this conversation, in my humble opinion."

"Right," Rogers scoffed, crossing his arms. "Like she's going anywhere with _you_."

Konstantin raised an eyebrow, hands clasped behind his back. "I believe Gale can speak for herself, can't she?"

I closed my eyes, let the breath escape from my lungs, and tried not to show my uneasiness. "I told you earlier," I said quietly. "If he wants to talk... then we're going to talk."

Across the room, Konstantin grinned.

I took a step towards him, but before I could get any further, someone's hand tugged at my shoulder. Rogers stepped out to the side, taking his hand back as soon as I'd stopped moving. The captain's face was stone cold as he stared Konstantin down. Even though I wasn't on the receiving end of his anger, I couldn't help but lean away from him.

"I said no." Rogers' voice was terrifyingly steady, cutting through the air like a bullet.

For a split second, Konstantin's grin wavered. He may be powerful but he wasn't stupid, and ticking off Steve Rogers was _monumentally_ idiotic. Even without the shield, the only thing stopping Rogers from completely demolishing everything in his path was his moral compass. And if you got on his bad side... you didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell.

I sucked in a short breath, and gently tapped Rogers' elbow. His body was as rigid as a boulder. "It's okay," I insisted. "He can't- he won't do anything to hurt me." Daring a glance toward Konstantin, I caught him nodding ever so slightly in approval. "He's too smart for that."

Rogers didn't say a word, so I tentatively started in Konstantin's direction. But Rogers' fingers caught on my elbow once more, and I whirled back to face him. "I'm two hundred percent against this," he said quietly, finally breaking his gaze from Konstantin and looking down at me. Then he let go of my elbow, and whatever rebuttal I had on the tip of my tongue vanished. "But I'm trusting you to make the call on this."

I didn't want to think about what I was doing; I didn't want to realize what consequences would come, what damage would surely befall everyone around me. But I refused the urge to look past Rogers, to Barton, just to see what he thought. I wanted to know if he agreed with me, if he thought I was crazy, if he'd say anything in a futile but nonetheless appreciated manner. I wanted to know his opinion, because it actually mattered to me. Because I'd trusted him.

But he lied.

He _lied_.

And so with a satisfied pang, I pivoted on my heel, and held my chin up high as I walked towards the elevator. Rogers didn't hesitate to jump into action; he was one step behind me, each pace equal to my own. As we passed Konstantin, he turned around and smoothly matched our brisk pace, a confident gleam in his blue eyes.

Behind us, I heard Stark muttering something, a vague set of instructions into his phone. The air was shifting around the couches- they were moving quickly, I could tell at least that much. The nearby wind scraps were coiling around them, reacting to the tension practically rolling off every person in the room. A bit of that silver circled back to me, sinking into my muscles and making them tensen up.

The elevator doors opened the moment we neared them. I was the first one in- _I didn't trust myself to slow down for fear that I'd lose the foolhardy confidence that was waning with every passing second._

Konstantin started forward, going to stand directly to my left, when Rogers cut him off abruptly. The captain planted himself in the exact middle of the elevator, forcing Konstantin to awkwardly change course. I faced forward, trying to keep myself composed- _and I'd almost done it_ \- when my eyes fell past the elevator doors, past the shining floor and that ridiculous bar of Stark's, all the way to Barton.

He wasn't looking at me. But he was fiddling with what resembled an arrow in his hands, the tip of which gave off a little spark. Romanoff was talking to him in a hushed tone, gestured above her to the ceiling. He nodded, preoccupied with the arrow.

_Something hitting me, electricity racing through me-_

The elevator doors slid shut. I didn't mind the distance between me and Barton.

As the elevator descended smoothly, the silence grew heavier and heavier with every passing heartbeat. Konstantin cleared his throat quietly, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Rogers shift his feet, so he completely blocked me from seeing Konstantin at all.

"Before we get too far ahead of ourselves," Rogers suddenly spoke up, still as a rock besides me. "Does anybody want to get off?"

"I believe that's up to Gale," Konstantin replied immediately, the ghost of a smile in his voice. _He knew what I was going to say, he knew I didn't even have a choice._

Rogers' eyes flickered to me. I wish I could've said my voice was steady, but when I answered with "We're fine", it was clear to all three of us that it was a lie. I didn't dare speak again after that- my voice would break, it would betray me like it always did around _him_.

When we reached the lobby, Rogers waited until Konstantin exited the elevator, and then moved to the side to let me pass. The whole time, he put himself between me and Konstantin, something that didn't escape my notice. I wanted to thank him, but to openly admit appreciation in front of Konstantin? I might as well lay down and die.

Once we'd crossed the lobby, Konstantin pushed through the glass doors. Rogers paused to hold them open for me before catching up to my former guardian. Outside, the sun was bright, glinting off windows and buildings and cars. There was a chilly breeze blowing through, though, that offset the warmth. _Silver and mercury, deep in my bones._ For a moment, the tension in me eased in response to the wind.

"This way," Konstantin's voice interrupted, and the minuscule comfort dissipated like fog in the sun. 

Across the street was a decently sized cafe. The sign above the yellow and white striped awning was in cursive font, which I didn't even bother trying to read. The windows had been recently washed, gleaming in the sunlight. Inside, I could see little clusters of people sitting on stools and waiting in line. It wasn't particularly busy, but seeing as the cafe was directly in view of the Tower, more than a couple folks had heavy cameras slung around their necks, eyes rooted to the skies to catch a glimpse of any hero they could find.

As I hopped over the curb, Konstantin slowed to a halt by the entrance to the cafe. "I hate to break up the party," he began with an apologetic smile. "But mine and Gale's conversation is private."

Rogers' jaw clenched, and he looked like he was about to punch Konstantin in the gut when I shook my head at him. "It's not worth it," I muttered. "Wait out here. If I need help... believe me, I'll let you know."

Rogers looked very unamused. "So I'm just supposed to let you two have a chat? Catch up for old time's sake?" He scoffed. "You literally just told us why _he-_ " Rogers jerked his thumb at Konstantin, who was waiting patiently by the door with a pleasant expression upon his face. "-cannot be trusted. Why on God's green earth should I let an as-"

"I trust you," I said simply, ignoring the way Konstantin's eyes locked onto me. "I trust you to be there if I need help. That's how I know I'll be okay."

Rogers sighed, looking to the sides as if the right answer lay on the street or hidden in the sky. "I- I don't-" He frowned, clearly torn between letting me walk into the cafe and literally throwing me back to the Tower. Then a long breath escaped his lungs, and as he shut his eyes for a brief second, a hundred years' worth of weariness settled into his face. "Clint's probably on the roof with his bow," he finally muttered. "And Tony's undoubtedly got every inch of this place under a metric ton of surveillance. Just... be careful."

In lieu of words, I gave Rogers what I meant to be a reassuring smile, and slowly stepped away from him.

"After you," Konstantin called out, already holding the door open for me like a perfect gentleman. With a final glance back at Rogers, I retreated inside the cafe. As soon as the door swung shut, the cool breeze was cut in two, and I nearly lost my balance at the sudden shift.

A few heads perked up when we entered; Konstantin was dressed rather formally, which was bound to draw attention- never mind that he possessed this sort of gravity, like no matter where you looked, your eyes would always find him. I didn't know anyone who was immune to it, including myself. _Especially including myself_.

Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. I flinched, and it paused, a trickle of warmth seeping into my shirt. "Apologies," Konstantin murmured. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I twisted my head, bringing him into full view. Konstantin was drawn up to his complete height, scanning the room from all the way up there. A strand of blonde hair fell out of place when he turned, but he didn't seem to notice. "Why don't you find a place to sit, Gale?" He smiled down at me, utterly at ease in stark contradiction to my tense figure and racing heart. "I'll get us something to drink and join you in a minute or two."

A spark of panic shot up in me as I turned on my heel, and I ended up striding away from Konstantin with much more force than I intended. My feet carried me to a small table by the back window, where there were far fewer people around to overhead our impending conversation. As I sank down into the metal chair, I couldn't help but lean towards the glass, eager to be anywhere but here. _But this was necessary- afterall, if Konstantin wanted to talk, then we were going to talk._

A bright peal of laughter soared above the ambient noise and my head whipped toward the front counter. Konstantin's lips were moving- I couldn't make anything out- but the barista was laughing, covering her mouth with one hand as if to keep the sound inside. Konstantin shrugged casually, broke out in that brilliant smile, and the young woman all but melted.

I rolled my eyes, unable to watch this ridiculous scene any longer. Bringing my hands up onto the table, I picked at my nails as I tried to figure out what exactly I was going to do.

For starters, Konstantin and I were going to talk. But how should I behave? If I didn't try to put on false confidence, my fear would shine through like a lighthouse at midnight. And I knew better than anyone that showing fear to Konstantin was blood in the air for him. But confidence? With _him_? With my hands nearly trembling, he'd see through my disguise in a heartbeat.

But indifference would do. Act like everything bored me, play along with his little game. Entertain him for a while without giving up anything important, and just be indifferent. _Indifference_. That was good. I could act apathetic. Of all the emotions I could put on like a new set of clothes, the lack of any was by far the most natural to me.

I'd just made up my mind when a grey suit caught my eye, and I straightened up in my chair- _already pressing all emotion out of my body_ \- as Konstantin approached, carrying a steaming mug in each hand.

"I bought you a black coffee," he said as soon as he was close. Konstantin set down one mug in front of me and sat down across the small table, smoothing out the front of his suit. "I know you hate lattes."

"So you remember my order," I said carelessly, flicking a nail against the ceramic. _Didn't change the pit in my stomach, milk in my coffee or not._ "What else is new?"

"Well," Konstantin said thoughtfully, taking a sip of his own coffee- the same as mine, we shared a taste. "I was going to ask you the same thing. It's been far too long since we've seen each other. I'm curious to see how you've changed. Do you still like Shakespeare?"

I shrugged, eyes tracing the whorls of the wood pattern on the table. "I don't have much downtime," I confessed. "But I've moved on to other literary periods. The Modernists have some good poetry." _Give him something to go on, make sure the conversation remains meaningless._

Konstantin gave a little "hmm" of surprise when he heard that. "I thought you would've enjoyed the Dark Romanticists more. In fact, if I recall correctly," he said with a tiny smile, "you grinned from ear to ear when I bought a complete volume of Edgar Allen Poe's work. I remember you spent the next three days holed up in the library, all in the world of your own."

And just when I thought I could only hate Konstantin, I felt a pang of sadness, because that smile of his was genuine. _Because that day, he was truly happy for me, and I was happy because of him. Because at one point, he thought himself a father, and I didn't think myself an orphan._

When I didn't respond, Konstantin didn't press. He sat back in his chair, sipping his coffee. The sunlight coming in from the window splayed over his figure, casting soft shadows on his suit. I watched him as he turned to face the glass, lost in thought as his blue eyes gazed at the world. In that moment, he didn't seem angry or displeased. He just looked... peaceful.

_And I half-wanted him to be like he used to, when he treated me with kindness, when I'd light up because he said he was proud of me._

"I didn't want to mention it before," Konstantin broke the silence, speaking slowly. His eyes flickered back to me "But I couldn't help but notice..."

I frowned, following his gaze- which was focused on my bare arms- all the way to... oh.

"What happened?" He asked gently, seemingly concerned. "For a reaction that bad, you must've been in a fight of some sort. Obviously you survived, but-"

"How did you see them?" I interrupted. "Even I can barely tell they're there." Glancing down, I carefully traced the curl of one of the wind-scars; the ones that I'd awoken with instead of my memory, the ones that echoed the silver marks. The constant reminders of Ullr, and of so much cold in my blood that it threatened to freeze my heart for good.

"Your legacy differs from mine" Konstantin murmured, transfixed by the nearly invisible lines on my skin. "But I'd know a wind-cut anywhere. If you don't mind me asking, who gave it to you?"

My jaw clenched. "I did," I muttered through gritted teeth.

Konstantin's eyes widened. "You- but in order for the marks to manifest like that, you'd have to be channeling so much raw power that..." A frighteningly familiar gleam shone on his face. "How much damage did you cause?"

_Deep breaths_ , I told myself. "I brought a god to his knees," I said, forcing my voice to sound indifferent. "Lost my memory for a bit, then got it back just in time to see you walk through the door."

Konstantin was grinning triumphantly. "I knew you were capable of so much more," he confided. "Tell me- have you taken a house apart yet, brick by brick? I have no doubt you can, but so much has happened since we last saw each other. I've missed watching you grow; I must confess, I'm excited to learn what limits you've exceeded-"

"I'm not a weapon," I snapped at him. "I'm not something you throw at the enemy and wait to go 'boom'."

A pitying look came over Konstantin; he reached out a hand as if to touch mine, but I jerked it back, and he let it rest on the table between us. "Hyri, you must've been misled," he told me softly. "We share a circle, an echelon- we know _exactly_ what it means to be us. We know what we are to the Teneo, and to whomever is unfortunate enough to face us. The simple truth," he sighed, taking his hand back, "is that we are blades with no handles. Heave us at a person and we cut them. Hold us and we draw blood."

He tilted his head, blue eyes rooted on mine. "We may speak as light as air, but there is metal in us. We are dangerous, make no mistake-"

"I never wanted to wage war," I spat at Konstantin, who remained unbothered by my tone.

"But you chose it nonetheless," he said, straightforward as always. "When you joined our echelon, you _chose_ the marks you still bear on your back." Konstantin shook his head, a wisp of blond hair slipping to cup the edge of his ear. "You chose wings and a sword- how could you possibly expect to be a weapon of peace?"

_I never wanted this!_ I wanted to scream. _I never wanted to be branded and bound to you, to this way of life._

But I refused to look at him, to give him the pleasure of knowing how shaken I was. Instead, I tightened my hands around the coffee mug and forced myself to take a sip, acting like everything was fine.

The coffee was delicious. It made me want to puke.

For a moment, I had a wild notion that Konstantin had planned this entire thing from start to finish; that he'd known I was at the Tower, that he made a deal with Stark just to get to me, that there was no end in sight other than the one he wanted. My heart dropped in my chest at the thought, bobbing like a ship on rough seas, unable to fight the current without breaking to pieces and unable to reach any shore the tide did not dictate I could find haven at. It made my efforts feel... futile. Like anything I did wouldn't matter- I could scream, throw my chair, rip this cafe to shreds with a snap- and in the end, Konstantin would still walk me out of the door like a gentleman.

"Despite what you may think," he sighed, looking back at me. "I never intended to drive you away."

"No," I scoffed, bitter to the bone. "You just wanted to use me. That's commonly referred to as 'manipulating people', in case you haven't heard."

A frown marred his features. "I never intended for you to _want_ to leave," he corrected. "I obviously overestimated your commitment."

"You mean my blind loyalty," I fired back. "How many times did you ruin my chance of a better life? How many times did you push me away from finding what made _me_ happy?" Shaking my head, my eyes restlessly scanned the room. "I can't believe I ever fell for your empty promises in the first place."

Konstantin didn't flinch; he didn't even blink. "You were lost," he told me patiently. "And you needed purpose in your life. I gave you that. I gave you ambition, goals and the means to achieve them. You never fell for anything, Gale. You've always been too smart for that."

" _Man aen-_ don't do that!" I snapped, eyes flashing grey for a second.

"Do what?"

I glared fierce enough to burn a hole through the man's head. "Don't shower me with compliments. You say nice things, and you make people feel special, and then you go and ask them to do the impossible for you."

Konstantin watched me while I ranted, waiting until I'd drawn a deep breath and settled for the moment. "I never made you do anything," he said softly. "I only gave you the option. You knew what you were doing-"

"That's BS and you know it."

"-you knew _exactly_ what you were signing up for-"

" _Shut it_ already!"

"You just didn't care."

My lungs heaved, sucking in an unsteady breath as my fingers curled and uncurled around the handle of my mug. Konstantin's blue eyes were steady, steadier than my hands- I quickly shoved them in my pockets.

"Gale." Konstantin said again, more firmly. Unwillingly, my eyes flickered back to his face. Konstantin leaned forward across the table, resting his forearms on the flat surface. "Listen to me very carefully, Hyri. I'm giving you the same ultimatum as I did three years ago."

"Really?" I tried to sound skeptical, but my throat was too dry; my voice broke, and I cursed it for betraying me like that. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." He nodded simply. "Your old house, your old room, your old place on the team."

The room crashed deathly silent in my ears, save for the relentless progression of my pulse. "The team?"

Konstantin smiled- whether at my reply or my reaction I couldn't tell. And the truly awful part? It was the same smile as before, the same smile that prompted my fall so many years ago. "Yes," he chuckled. Pulling out a black phone from his pocket, he switched it on and slid it across the table to me.

I didn't touch it- I didn't have to. Shining up at me was a picture of three young adults in front of a tree line, with pines dropping into shadows behind them. A self-confident air shrouded them; it leaked into their posture. On the right was a tall boy, the tips of his hair dyed red to match the square badge pinned to his jacket. A blonde girl stood next to him, arms crossed and blank eyes challenging the world to take a swing. And third: a second boy with a shock of ginger hair grinned boldly at the camera, the pink-white lines of a scar peeking above his shirt, just above his heart.

"Last month, I sent them to South America." Konstantin broke the silence, deftly whisking the phone back into his pocket before I could tell him to let me see them again, to look at them just a little longer- _wait- was that even what I wanted?_ "Our outreach missions have an ever-increasing success rate."

Clearing my throat, I tried my best to avoid his gaze. "And- and what am I supposed to think about that?"

"They'd be better with you," Konstantin admitted.

"They _hate_ me," I protested. "I left. I abandoned them and jumped ship. They'd never take me back."

Konstantin ran a hand back through his blond hair and let out an exasperated sigh. "Gale, you four were _children_. Children bicker, children fight. But now you're older. You know better, as do they. In fact, you'd be surprised how much immaturity they've grown out of- Aeron especially." He let out a laugh at that, more for my benefit than his.

 _He always do this, talks me in circles until he sounds like he makes sense and up is down and right is wrong and I can't even tell where the sky is._ "So what?!" I threw my hands in the air, ignoring the stares I got from the other customers in the small cafe. "I'm sure you lined up a hundred more impressionable kids to take my place-"

"No, Gale." Konstantin cut across me sharply. He instantly softened, but the threat of that edge lurked below the gilded words. "No. No one can replace you, Gale. I either have you or I don't."

He traced a pattern of looping circles on the table, pale blue lines echoing the design on the back of his hand. "Without you, they're not the same," Konstantin continued, a far-off gleam in his eyes. "They have the determination, the ambition, the resources... but they're lacking that one crucial element." The too-familiar cunning grin tugged at his lips. "They're missing the wind in their sails."

Then Konstantin shrugged, seemingly at ease, and tapped his fingers against the rim of his mug. "The choice is essentially yours, Hyri. But-" He held up a hand in warning. "Before you give me your answer, tell me this: when was the last time you left that tower? When was the last time you got a breath of fresh air?"

 _No, no, no_. I refused to look around me, at the open space and the windows and the sensation of freedom. _This is a trick. This is what he does. He finds what you want the most and charges you a price you'll pay for the rest of your life._

"They locked you up," Konstantin said gently. "They seek to own you, to put a collar of kind words around your neck and give you a new name, all so you never see their hands on the leash. These people? They _dream_ of calling you their own, of you content with your gilded cage. But you never belonged to them. My dear Hyri, they are _human_. You and I? Our blood is red and gold, our bones are carved from star metal. They are scared of us- and they will never see you as anything more than a threat. Your footsteps shake the ground, Hyri, your shadow overcasts the sun. You can seize the world with a whisper... why should you settle for less?"

I couldn't speak; I only sat there, wide eyed and pale, my heart fluttering in my chest like a sparrow. Konstantin sat back, letting his words sink into my skin, thick as oil. He didn't say anything else- he didn't need to. His words had hit me like a freight train and now I was left reeling in the wake.

In the absence of speech, the chatter of the cafe flowed in, filling the empty beats. The aroma of coffee and something-flaky-baking-in-the-oven clung to the counters and tables, tainting the stagnant air a rich bronze in my eyes. Sunlight fell through the window next to us, casting a square of golden light over my hands which were cupped around the mug- it had long since gone cold. In this moment, everything was so... human.

"Ashi."

Her name fell as soft as daisy petals, no more than a sigh. Face still leeched of color- _was it ever otherwise_ \- I raised my dark eyes to meet Konstantin's. His eyebrows were knit together in bewilderment.

"What?" He asked, the edge peeking up in his tone.

My hands might've been trembling, but my memory was not. "Ashi," I repeated, stronger this time. _There's still metal in me._ "I remember Ashi. How can you possibly expect me to omit her?"

I didn't wait for Konstantin to defend his actions. In a rare moment of defiance, for defiance was near extinct with him, I stood abruptly. The backs of my legs pushed the chair across the floor, making a hideous scraping sound. A few humans _\- and somehow his words were in my head_ \- a few people turned their heads to see what was happening, but as humans are, they wasted no time in resuming their preoccupations.

"Gale- Hyri, don't just-" Konstantin called desperately after me, and even though part of me wanted to _do as I was told_ , I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead. Pushing through the door with more force than necessary, the warmth of the sunlight hit me at full strength, making the hairs on the backs of my forearms prickle.

The breath I'd been holding since Konstantin walked into the tower yesterday went flooding out of my lungs, eager to join the rest of the world. I allowed myself one moment, just to close my eyes. The smell of cigarettes and cold water from the ocean filled the air. And for the first time in a very long time, I let my mind... blur.

_Wind from the east. Cross-breeze from the north. Storm coming soon. It'll pass before the week is over._

If I wanted to, if I really wanted to, I could-

_-fly free through the sky_ , a north wind teased, tracing past me in the span of a heartbeat but nevertheless invading my head. _We could just... melt... into the air. No enemies, no towers, no reason to touch the ground. We could skim the clouds, we could spin waves toward the shores and uproot the mountains. We could live with the other winds._

_Our family._

_Wouldn't it be so much easier than all of this? Wouldn't it be so nice to set down your worries? You've done your share of strife in this body, you've fought your wars... onóne... sister. Rest with us. We will take care of you._

_You're family._

"Gale?" A nauseatingly human voice echoed from behind.

Eyes blinking open, I looked back over my shoulder. Rogers was hesitantly walking towards me from his post by the wall, caution written plain as day on his face. "You okay?" He asked slowly.

I know he meant well but the sound of his vocal cords rubbing against each other, screeching like a metal knife on a plate- it made my ears burn in retaliation. Suppressing a grimace, I silently nodded at the man and turned my gaze to the silhouette of the tower, as dark as charcoal painted on the sky.

"Let's-" My _human_ voice caught in my throat, and it took a frightening moment for my head to reel back into my body. My body, which ran on blood and moved by muscle and stood by bone. My body, which screamed to be lighter than air, for what else could it be with silver wind woven in every inch?

"Let's go."

Author's Note: Okay, so I realize at this point that Gale's backstory is getting kinda complicated, especially the whole deal with the Teneo. So if there's anything you guys need clarification on, or if you want just cool little facts about the Teneo that probably won't make it into the chapters otherwise, just drop a comment and I'll start compiling a list. (Believe me, I have _so_ many hidden meanings in names and everything that I'm dying to share them)

Secondly, enough people have messaged me about this, so I'd just like to let you all know that I do accept fan art and if you send me them, I'll start a separate chapter with the links to all of your stuff (full credit given, of course)

In addition to that, I'd like a little feedback- I'm trying to figure out which elements of my writing work for you guys and which ones don't. If there's a moment that stood out to you guys (like a certain line, or imagery, or phrase), whether good or bad, let me know and I can hopefully improve my writing. Thank you in advance, it really means a lot to me :)

(and speaking of comments... two people have unknowingly stumbled onto plot points/cool reveals; one of them commented on chapter 40 and the other on chapter 23 [both within the 110 most recent comments, minus the ones on this chapter]... have fun scouring the thread :) )


	44. Get used to the cold

_Konstantin was right. I got used to cold._

_It didn’t bother me as it used to. I remember when I couldn’t bear the winter, when I refused to step outside in the snow. There was a time when I wouldn’t dare to leave my coat behind, when my cheeks would sting from the frost. I remembered when my skin didn't have that silver sheen when a true north wind blew. Most of all, I remembered when I didn't mind the warmth._

_Snow had caked the bottom of my boots, pounded into ice through the thousands of footsteps. The sky overhead was as flat and dull as iron. The air was freezing— of course I knew that, I always knew how cold it was— but I wasn’t shivering. The cold simply sank into my skin, and didn’t bother me in the slightest._

_“We’re all set over here,” Ray’s voice crackled in my ear._

_I peeked over the edge of the little wall that ran along the edge of the roof. Across the street, far below me, I could see a young couple sitting at a bus stop. To any passerby, they were debating over which museum to visit, both of them fixated on their tourist pamphlets._

_As I watched them, the red-headed boy put his arm around the girl’s shoulder, a wicked grin on his face. The girl's body stilled, and her blank eyes narrowed._

_“Aeron,” Ray’s voice was deathly calm. “Remove your hand from me before I remove it from you.”_

_Down below, the boy quickly retracted his arm. Up on the roof, I grinned to myself. “Alright,” I said out loud. “Sten?”_

_“Ready.”_

_“Okay, then.” My breath turned to steam in the freezing air. It was weird to see the air turn a color other than silver. “I hope this works, guys, or I’m gonna have words with all of you.”_

_“Ye of little faith,” Aeron muttered. I saw him look up at the roof directly where I was; he gave me a sarcastic salute. Ray elbowed him, and he lowered his arm._

_“I’ve spent three days on this freezing rooftop,” I reminded my friends. “So believe me when I say I’m wee bit cranky.”_

_I heard Sten sigh heavily, the sound popping in my ear. “Can we get on with this? You’re not the only one waiting, Gale.”_

_Always the first to get bored— that was plain old Sten. So I pulled myself to my feet, ignoring the ominous creaking from my joints, and faced the building across the street. Reaching out a hand, I snatched a breeze in mid-air. I worked it between my fingers, carefully forming a razor-sharp edge. “Three minutes,” I reminded my team, and shot the breeze at the building._

_It hit one of the glass windows lining the third floor. Spider-web cracks erupted, and scarcely a moment later an alarm picked up inside. I could hear it ringing through the rooms, perfectly in step with little red lights that faintly blinked on and off along the entire floor. "Distraction underway," I said quietly, eyeing the building. "Third floor's on lock down. It's a straight shot up to the eighth from the south side."_

_"Don't worry, G," Ray reassured me. From way up here, I could barely make out the girl's crooked grin as she and Aeron stood and started for the glass doors of the building. They pushed inside before anyone could second-guess their slightly wrinkled clothes and conspicuous lack of ID badges. As she and Aeron vanished from sight, the girl's words rang out in my ear clear as a bell. "We can handle this. Nothing'll go wrong."_

_Aeron screwed up in the first thirty seconds._

_How do I know? Because I learned approximately eight new curse words from Ray, who'd apparently mastered the art of yelling at full volume for a whole minute without breaking for air. For the first time, I realized why everyone said air legacies were uptight._

_"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Aeron kept saying over and over again._

_"YOU IDIOT! **PE-CHANNAS MOTHER-MUKGORN-** "_

_"I didn't know we needed the elevators intact!"_

_"WHAT PART OF 'DON'T BLOW ANYTHING UP' DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!"_

_"I just got excited! And did you see how good a job I did? I mean, it's a literal puddle-"_

_"ONCE I'M DONE WITH YOU, **YOU** WILL BE A LITERAL PUDDLE-"_

_I was pacing on the roof, listening to the blaring alarms and feeling my blood pressure spike with every beat. "Can you get to the eighth floor?" I asked urgently._

_There was a labored grunt and a short scream, and then Aeron's voice filtered into my ear. "Not sure, princess," he said, dripping with sarcasm. "Have you seen those flashy lights? Maybe the sirens? See, that means there's a lot of guards we're fighting through right now so maybe pestering us-"_

_"AND WHO'S FAULT IS THAT?!"_

_"I told you I'm sorry, move on!"_

_"Guys?" I called out, marching to the edge of the roof. Peering out, I tried to catch a glimpse of my team, but the windows were tinted nearly black- I couldn't see half an inch through. "Do we need to fall back?"_

_"Fall back?" Sten echoed my words, sounding uncharacteristically out of breath. "Look, I'm not doing so hot on the east side, but-" Something very big shattered on his end, and across the street, I caught the back of a security guard as he crashed through a window and hurtled to the ground. "-we can't retreat. Konstantin trusts us, we can't let him down."_

_**Of all the stubborn-** I shook my head, expelling the thought. I had to focus on what was happening right now, not on my teammate's inflexible determination. "Ray?" I said, trying to keep my nerves out of my voice._

_Aeron's scoff was loud and clear. "You're the **surveillance** , princess," he muttered. "You'll just get in our way like the last time you abandoned your post."_

_" **Ray?** " I repeated, ignoring the hot-headed boy._

_She was silent for a moment. "Stick to the plan," she finally said. "It'll take another minute for us to get up the stairs and grab the file, but we can make it. Gale, it's early but jump over here so we can get out of this mess as soon as we can. Sten?"_

_"Don't mind me, just tearing up the east side for the heck of it," Sten grumbled._

_"Sten-"_

_"Yeah, yeah, I'll head upwards and cut the security off," he sighed. "No one will get to you, Sparrow."_

_I felt a grin tug at my mouth despite the mound of buffalo-dung our mission was rapidly becoming. My breath puffed into clouds in the freezing air. "Sten, buddy," I shook my head, "we're gonna talk about your nicknames after this."_

_"You're small, fast, and you like to steal our food. It's very accurate."_

_"Focus," Ray snapped. "Gale, get over here before everything blows up in our face- besides the elevators, of course."_

_"Fine, fine." I waved a hand, realizing only after I'd done it that no one else could see. "I'll let you know when I'm inside the building."_

_That seemed to pacify my friends for the moment. Turning my face up to the cold, clouded sky, I took a deep breath. A chill shuddered through my lungs, burrowing into my bones; it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. There was a strong wind coming in from the north- it helped ease my nerves more than Ray's planning. Now all I had to do was... jump._

_"No matter what," Konstantin had told me before we drove out, posture frozen still with the utmost seriousness. "Do not, under any circumstance, let a single person see you for what you are."_

_I leaned over the edge of the roof, looking up and down the street. Not a single car had stopped yet, and the only pedestrians who were gawking through the windows on the ground floor were focused everywhere but up. Before I could chicken out, I grabbed the ledge with my hands to steady myself, and promptly leaped over the edge of the five story apartment complex._

_Don't worry. I didn't fall._

_It took barely a second- the only thing anyone would've seen was a trail of faint silver arcing from one building to the next, easily dismissible as a wisp of a cloud and nothing more. But for that one less-of-a-second, I was careening through the air towards a cement roof, with no idea what was inside the building._

_I hit the ground harder than I would've liked, but I didn't have the time to complain. "I'm on the roof-" My knees cracked when I stood, making me wince. "Aeron?"_

_"Hold your tiny horses, kiddo." He was breathing heavily- there must've been more stairs than he expected. "We're almost on the eighth floor."_

_"Okay." I nodded to myself, fingers drumming against the side of my leg. "I'll just... wait."_

_Exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds later- and I was totally counting- Ray and Aeron burst through a maintenance door, hair all frazzled and gulping down the fresh air like it was their last. Sten was three steps behind them, looking relatively unruffled but sporting a nasty red mark on his jaw._

_"Got it," Ray wheezed, holding up a plain, dark envelope in one hand. She groaned as she leaned back, tilting her face all the way up to the sky. "Aeron... do me a favor and... burn those stairs down."_

_"Sure," the boy emphatically agreed, resting his hands on his knees. "But I think... good Lord, I hate stairs... we need to stop and appreciate the fact that-" he pointed at the envelope in Ray's hand "-this is literally blackmail. Guys, it's **black mail**."_

_Sten trotted over to the opposite side of the roof, the metal hooks on his boots gleaming dully in what little light made it through the clouds. "Less chatter, more trying not to die." He glanced back at us three expectantly. "Well?"_

_"Right, right." Aeron trudged over to Sten and peered carefully over the edge. The next building wasn't too far away- only a narrow alley divided the two. "Me first, I suppose."_

_Me and Ray walked briskly over to the boys. I cracked my knuckles, eyeing Aeron. "I hope you've lost weight since we last tried this," I remarked. "Otherwise..."_

_Aeron's eyes shot wide. "What-"_

_"We don't have time for this." Sten swiftly grabbed Aeron by the scruff and swung him like a sack of potatoes over the edge of the roof._

_**A little more warning, next time?**_

_I snapped out a hand, yanking a north wind down from the sky and sending it on a collision course with Aeron. The red-head lurched up instead of down, and crashed ten feet past the edge of the other roof. Aeron let out a feeble groan, opting to lie there face down for the time being._

_Ray danced away from Sten's reach, backing up a few steps. "Nuh uh, buddy," she warned him, bouncing back on one heel. "The only thing that's touching this gorgeous body is the air." Without waiting, she sprinted to the edge and jumped high. In all honesty, Ray probably could've made it, but I gave her a boost anyway. I didn't need to explain to Konstantin why his Silverfoot prodigy was being scraped off the pavement._

_On the other rooftop, Aeron was getting to his feet just as Ray landed. She hurried towards a fire escape, eager to get down on the ground._

_"Don't need your help, Sparrow," Sten's voice broke me back. I watched him back up, just like Ray, and suck in a deep breath._

_"Yeah, well," I shrugged casually, "you earth legacies never admit when you need it anyway."_

_Sten's face split in a cocky grin, and then he was off. I didn't even bother finding a wind- Sten cleared the jump with several feet to spare. **Typical Ironblood.**_

_I was about to work up a good breeze to carry me across when the maintenance door banged open for a second time. Whirling around, I saw a trio of guards spill out onto the roof, only a stone's throw away._

_I took a step back- and the mens' eyes lit up. **Stupid- now they thought I was scared**. I knew better than to show fear around anyone, Konstantin had taught me that much._

_"Hey, girlie," the one on the left called out, stepping towards me. The others began to fan out, and I shifted so I could keep them in sight. "Why don't you just come inside, and we'll- we'll call your parents or something." He broke up into a self-indulgent chuckle, and the other two joined in._

_Even though my back was turned, I knew Sten and the others could see, even if they were hiding (and if they had any sense, they were)._

_"Go on," I whispered, knowing full well that Ray could hear me. "I'll meet you at Konstantin's rendez-vous."_

_"Come on, darling," another guard cooed. "We'll help you get to where you're going."_

_I slid one hand behind my back, and plucked a thin breeze from the air. "Gentlemen," I said loudly, working the the breeze between my fingers. "It's really unfortunate that you chose this exact moment to show up."_

_Henchman Numero Uno gave me an insipid smile. "Sure thing, hon. See, the problem is..." He took a slow step forward, and drew something out from behind him. My mouth went dry as the long metal beam glinted in the light. "You're trespassing while an alarm's going off. I don't think the two are just coincidental, do you?"_

_Three men I could handle. Three men and weapons, though..._

_"So we're gonna have a little chit-chat," the guard continued. "And then me and my buddies are gonna decide on what to do with you." He punctuated the last five words by tapping the crowbar against the other palm._

_**I prepared for this** , I reminded myself. As the men grew closer and closer, I ran a finger along the sharp edge of the breeze in my hand. **And I remember what Konstantin said:**_

_**No witnesses. For either side.** _

_Thirty minutes, a rusty crowbar, a couple creative curse words, and three unmoving security guards later, I was sitting in the back of Konstantin's car trying not to move- because, as it turns out, being hit repeatedly with a crowbar in the back makes even **breathing** hurt._

_“Can’t believe I didn't catch them in my first sweep,” Sten grumbled, fingers tapping against the leather seat. “They shouldn’t have gotten to you, Gale.”_

_I shook my head, wincing as my bones creaked in protest. “Not your fault, buddy. I can hold my own, they just caught me by surprise.”_

_“But-”_

_“Chill, Sten.” I held up a hand, rising from my seat as the car finally lurched to a halt. “I don’t blame you.”_

_Outside, the cool air was like heaven to me. I slowed down to take it all in, tilting my head up to the sky. The clouds were iron gray, scarcely a shade lighter than the sky itself. They blocked out the stars in huge swaths- not that many stars were visible to begin with, not this close to our city._

_Aeron pushed past me, jostling me out of my thoughts. I caught a glimpse of his face— there was an ugly expression on it, contorting his features into something much darker than I’d ever seen on him._

_There was a light nudge from my right. “Aeron won’t stay mad forever,” Sten murmured. “He has issues with failing—”_

_“— don’t we all?”_

_“— but he’ll cool down eventually.” Sten glanced down at me, a slight frown marring his face. “Sure you’re alright?”_

_The sudden switch in attitude threw me for a second, but I nodded. “Like I said, Sten—” Hesitating, I finally gave him a little pat on the shoulder. “I can hold my own.”_

_The boy jerked his head in a quick nod, and I retracted my hand. Sten and I were nearly complete opposites, but there were two things we shared in common: our unfailable penchant for bluntness, and our extreme dislike of being physically close to other people. For Sten, though, I think it was more of a germ thing._

_I heard another car door slam shut behind us, and a set of footsteps crunched through the frosty grass. “Gale, I’d like you to head downstairs,” Konstantin spoke up as he neared me and Sten. “I know you can take a hit, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”_

_“Downstairs?” The lower levels of Konstantin’s house (like it was modest enough to be called as such) were reserved for business, and not the company kind. There was a garage, and a gym; Konstantin sometimes worked down there, but we never saw exactly where._

_“Now, if you don’t mind.” Konstantin gave me a pointed look. “I’ve hired a new doctor. Just… don’t let first impressions get the best of you.”_

_I didn’t think much of his statement. So I trudged through the front door, and instead of going up to my bedroom, I turned to the stairs and headed down._

_The hallways of the lower level were cement; Konstantin favored practicality over everything else. I walked down a little way before coming to a door with a sign taped to the front. There were no words, only a simple image of a heart— the actual kind, not the shape they made balloons in on Valentine’s Day. This was the new doctor, apparently._

_I knocked briefly on the door, and pushed inside._

_The room was obviously still being set up. The walls weren’t painted, a good portion of the lights were out, and the only chair in the room was covered in plastic wrap. By the cabinets, there was a young girl standing, turned away from me._

_From the back, I couldn’t tell much about the girl. Her clothes were a medley of dark green and brown. The sleeves stretched down to her wrists, and her pants were cuffed just above her tennis shoes. Black fabric was wrapped around her head, covering everything from her hair down to about her chest. It was held in place by a small, delicate pin._

_"Sit." The girl didn't spare me as much as a backwards glance, completely absorbed in the paper on her clipboard. She couldn't have been more than twelve- the clipboard was comically huge in her hands- but she carried herself like she owned the world._

_Her head whipped up, eyes narrowing as she noticed I hadn't moved an inch. "Sit," she repeated in a more threatening tone. "Or I will make sure you spend the next three weeks holed up in your room."_

_"Who died and made you queen?" I muttered under my breath, but hopped up on the counter anyway._

_"Konstantin," she replied without skipping a beat, walking briskly to a row of cabinets that hadn't been painted yet. That caught my attention quick- I didn't think she'd be able to hear me, much less drop my guardian's name like the time of day. "You know, he told me you were stubborn." Her piercing stare locked onto me for a second time, and I shifted uncomfortably on the counter. "I do hope you won't make this difficult."_

_"Depends," I responded, eyeing her clipboard warily. The way she held it made me think she wouldn't hesitate to bash me over the head with it if provoked. "So Konstantin recruited you too?"_

_"Recruited?" She snorted, tossing the clipboard to the side and popping onto her tip-toes to reach one of the upper cabinets. Throwing it open, she rifled through a couple of small boxes and rolls of gauze, lips pursing in annoyance. "I'm not one of **you**."_

_The way the girl shaped the word "you" made it sound like an insult, and the hair on the back of my neck bristled. "Excuse me?" I said in a lethally calm tone, hands tightening around the edge of the counter._

_The girl huffed in exasperation and thrust her hand further into the cabinet, vanishing up to the elbow in pursuit of whatever she was looking for. Finally, she pulled a mason jar that was filled with some black powder out from the cabinet and paced back to the counter where I was sitting. The close proximity did nothing to ease my wariness. Setting the jar down with a heavy clunk, the girl glanced over at the discarded clipboard. "So other than your left arm, you haven't broken any bones before?"_

_Now I was just plain perplexed. " **Excuse** me?" I repeated._

_“So that’s a no.” She flicked the side of the jar, and the black color crumbled away. It was just a coating, apparently, and it gathered in the bottom of the jar in a small pile. “Hold still.”_

_Without any other task to perform, the girl’s hands twitched. Her fingers wiggled as she spoke. I’d think she was typing out her words at an imaginary keyboard, but the movements were too odd for that._

_There was a pregnant pause while she stared down the jar, green eyes narrowed in concentration._

_“So…” I piped up— not that I couldn’t stand awkward silences— but the girl had basically gone on screen saver mode. “I’—”_

_“Gale, I know,” she finished, hand fluttering at her side. “Gale Sok—”_

_My heart twisted sharply. “I don’t use that name,” I said harshly. “It’s just Gale.”_

_The girl was taken aback for a moment, and I felt a brief urge to apologize, but my mouth remained firmly shut. “Alright, Gale,” she said after a beat. “Hold still.”_

_The powder in the mason jar suddenly soared upwards, hitting the lid and crashing back down, but never touching the bottom. It lurched around for a few moments, trailing black specks like vapor from a plane. But then it settled into a sort of pattern, looping around and skimming the glass, whipping around like a captive bird._

_**Cotton-colored wind inside a snow globe, a man with hair a shade more silver. The air had a life of its own, just like the man’s voice as he told me in hushed, playfully secret tones just what the oddity was.** _

_“That’s…” I trailed off, the edge gone from my voice. “That’s an **alata**.”_

_The ends of the girl’s hijab swung as her head jerked up, eyes wide in shock. “You– you know what this is?” She asked incredulously._

_I gestured to the jar, transfixed by the powder’s movements. “Of course. They mimic cycles— pulse, breathing, even digestion. My uncle always had one with him…” The same pain in my chest came back, but this time it was dull ache that throbbed with every heartbeat. “You’re a Heartstriker.”_

_She glanced at the jar, and for the first time since I walked into this room, I saw a flicker of hesitation in her. Her expression smoothed a little, and all of a sudden her age struck me like a hammer. **This was a child** , a thought whispered fervently. **This one had her whole life in front of her, and was already forced to adopt a cold illusion to make it to the next day.**_

_“What’s your name?” I asked softly. Never gently— I don’t think I recognized the word anymore— but I knew how to be light, to give in instead of push back._

_Her fingers twitched, tracing a word I couldn’t read on the side of her leg. “Ashi,” she replied, just as quiet as I’d been._

_The name rolled around in my head. “Ashi,” I repeated, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her perk up, like she hadn’t been expecting a response. “Alright, Ashi. Now, seeing as you’re a…” I squinted at the mason jar, trying to recognize the black powder within. “… earth legacy?” I tried, and a grin tugged at her lips. “An earth legacy, so you better not screw anything up.”_

_Ashi rolled her eyes, and rubbed her hands together to warm them up. “You air legacies,” she muttered loudly. “So demanding.”_

_“Hey, watch it.” I pointed a warning finger at her. “Respect your elders.”_

_Ashi laughed at that— and I swear to Asgard, I never knew why, but the ache in my chest hurt a little less. “You’re my age!”_

_I couldn’t keep a smile from coming over me. “No, I’m fourteen. You’re, like, twelve. A literal child.”_

_Ashi’s hands cupped the jar, and the powder inside (iron, I’d wager) slowed its pace and began to steady. “And how old were you when you moved in?” She asked pointedly._

_“Thirteen,” I sniffed. “So there.”_

_“Okay, okay,” Ashi conceded, turning to face me completely. “But seriously, let’s get on with this so Konstantin doesn’t think I’ve kidnapped you.”_

_His name sparked in my head, lighting up one of Ashi’s previous statements. As the girl placed one hand over me heart and the other above the jar, I looked her, taking in her posture. “You said you weren’t recruited,” I said, and her body stiffened. “So how are you here?”_

_She was silent for so long, I didn’t think she’d answer. I sighed, sinking further into my seat. “I’m technically apprenticing,” Ashi suddenly spoke, but her voice was hushed, like she was telling me some secret that would get us both in deep trouble. “I moved in yesterday— I’ve got a room upstairs. But I go back to my grandparents every other week. Konstantin offered to find me an echelon, and… well…”_

_“You couldn’t refuse,” I finished, the words echoing in my head like lyrics to a song I knew by heart. “Yeah, that’s what he gave me. Plus food, and a team, and a purpose.”_

_Ashi’s hand was warm; the heat bled through my shirt. Even though her brown skin was unwrinkled, her knuckles were rough and worn, with a few paler specks of scars._

_“Which echelon?” She asked, out of harmless curiosity._

_I shrugged lightly. “The same as his.”_

_For the second time, Ashi’s face froze in surprise. “You’re joking,” she said faintly. “You’re **fourteen**.”_

_“Got the marks to prove it,” I said without skipping a beat. Ashi’s eyes raced over every inch of me, searching for the tell-tale ink that would confirm my claim. **Might as well** , I reasoned, and twisted so my back was more or less facing her._

_The tips of two wings peeked above the neckline. Black letters plunged down my spine, written in a language all but forgotten by the rest of the world. Ashi’s fingers brushed the edges of the ink, and I heard a breath whistle out of her lungs. “You chose this?” There was awe in her voice, yes, but it was laced with a deeper understanding. Afterall, no one saw those letters and believed the bearer to be harmless._

_“What else could I have been?” I asked humorlessly, the words tumbling out of my lips before I could stop them. “An Ironblood, with my quick feet and quicker wit? A Heartstriker, with my capacity to rip things apart? Or maybe a foolish Silverfoot, a monotonous Sundancer, a faithless Dreamwalker or an unstable Darksteady—”_

_The last two echelons brought the sharp pain back. It dug into my ribs, and I could feel it tracing two letters: Dagaz and Mannaz._

_“You could’ve remained unspoken for,” Ashi cautiously said. “If you were that unsure about where you belonged—”_

_I held up a hand, cutting her off abruptly. On my palm, a silver hagalaz winked at the girl. “I trust you know what that rune means?” My voice was dangerously calm. Ashi did not reply. “Then you understand why I have these marks.”_

_Turning back around, I sucked in a deep breath. Ashi placed her hand over my heart again, but her fingers were trembling, and the iron powder in the jar lashed out against the glass in response to her emotions._

_“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said slowly. “It’s… a sensitive topic.”_

_Ashi’s head twitched in a nod, but her mouth remained closed. I shut my eyes briefly, and let out a breath._

_For a couple a minutes, she worked in silence. The jar— the alata— spun incessantly, reflecting everything Ashi asked it to. When she grazed the edge of a bruise, I tried not to flinch. I didn’t need to give her any cause to think I was volatile._

_Once Ashi began packing up, I mustered the courage to speak up again. “Your fingers keep twitching. You do a lot of typing?” I asked, attempting to sound casual._

_Ashi glanced at me before returning to her clipboard. “No.” Her voice was clear, much louder than I’d expected— exactly the way she’d spoken when I first talked to her._

_“Piano?” I guessed._

_“No.”_

_“X-Box?”_

_“No.”_

_Fine. I gave up on trying to get her to talk. Hopping down from the counter, I started heading for the door. Just as I was about to exit into the hall, Ashi’s steady voice stopped me mid-step._

_“ASL, actually.”_

_The phrase ran through my head, but I pulled up nothing. “What does it mean?” My eyebrows knit together in puzzlement._

_Ashi was holding the clipboard tight against her chest, like she expected me to punch her in the gut. The posture clashed with her eyes, which held mine in a defiant gaze. I knew that look far too well. She expected me to laugh, or to spit at her._

_“Stands for American Sign Language,” Ashi answered coolly, waiting to see how I’d react._

_My head bobbed up and down for a moment. “So… you’re deaf?”_

_She shrugged lightly, a mirror image of me when she asked about my echelon. “I have some help from other Heartstrikers,” she admitted. “And I’ve got hearing aids.” Ashi tapped behind her ear, and from under the hijab I heard a small clicking noise. “But I use ASL when I’m with my grandparents. Sometimes it bleeds over to when I talk. More habit than anything else, really.”_

_I shifted my feet, unsure of how to word my questions for fear of being disrespectful. “American?”_

_Ashi gave me a dry smile, and I knew she’d heard it thousands of times before. “My grandfather was born in Hollywood. Everyone else in my family was either raised in India or Syria.”_

_“Oh,” I said, rather lamely. “That’s… cool.”_

_A laugh bubbled out from Ashi’s lips, but there was still a bitter edge to it. “You better be going,” she said. “Konstantin will undoubtedly want to know how your outing went.”_

_She didn’t give the chance to say goodbye, but I had a feeling that was more of her personality than the result of our conversation. In the end, I walked away from the room, leaving Ashi alone as she carefully placed the mason jar on the cabinet shelf, and shut the door._

_I saw Ashi two weeks later, after another “outing”, as she put it. I’d only gotten a few cuts, but Konstantin didn’t want them to scar._

_“There’s already a air about you,” he’d confided in me. “Strangers may not know why, but they can tell you don’t belong there, walking through their streets, shoulder to shoulder with humankind. There’s no need to make you stand out any more. Not yet.”_

_I didn’t question his judgement. I simply walked to Ashi’s room, which had been furnished since last I’d been there, and sat on the counter._

_There was a little small talk between us as she coaxed my skin to knit back together. She didn’t mention Konstantin; I could tell from the way she danced around his name that she either didn’t have faith in him, or didn’t care to in the first place._

_But she did talk about her grandparents, who, to my understanding, were her guardians. I didn’t know what’d happened to her parents; in a couple of years, I still would have no answer save for a very educated guess, though I had no way of realizing that in the moment._

_However, Ashi filled the silence with stories, spoken in a quiet sort of reminiscence that steeped in the room and the distance between us. Over the following weeks, I visited her with increasing frequency; at some point, I found myself stopping by her work-space even when I wasn’t injured. And in those half-hours that stretched longer each time, she told me about her family._

_Ashi’s grandparents, Samira and Frederick had moved to our community about fifty years ago, not of their own volition._

_The grandfather was born in Hollywood some years before, so he was old enough to remember the hatred in peoples’ eyes when the movie industry came under scrutiny for supposedly hiding communist propaganda in films.It was the America of the 1960s, and anyone who was alive then was either terrified of communists, persecuted for allegedly being a communist, or both._ _When his neighbor was arrested and never heard from again, the grandfather decided not to risk the chaos he saw coming to anyone of Eastern European descent, and (despite knowing next to no Polish) moved to Poland to live with his cousins._

_The grandmother and her husband, three sisters, two brothers, mother, and father lived in north-western India, very near the border. Their house was on the outskirts of a small town. This was due in small part to the mother’s insistence on raising her children in the fresh air, and due in large part to the fact that Samira’s family was Muslim; consequently, as a young girl, Samira learned exactly what death threats were. When tensions between India and Pakistan peaked, Samira family was forcibly relocated._

_Years later, when Samira was working as a translator in Turkey, a young doctor-in-training asked her for directions to the local hospital. Samira responded in what little Polish she knew, and Frederick fell head over heels in love. Six months later they married in secret— or at least said their vows, because they both knew nobody would accept an interracial, interfaith marriage._

_Exactly a year and a half later, a woman knocked on their door. In her bag were records of their family trees, tracing their lineage through farmers and soldiers and travelers all the way back to a small village in what used to be Norway. One of Frederick’s ancestors had been a carpenter there, and one of Samira’s distant relatives was a merchant who, on a trip north from what now was the Middle East, met another voyager from a tiny village, and had a child._

_Two bloodlines coming together was something the Teneo could not ignore, the woman explained. And they’d just decided to settle, to carve out a piece of land far in the north for their own community, so if Samira and Frederick were looking for someplace stable to raise a family…_

_In the end, there was no choice for them. Samira and Frederick sold their house and moved to Russia. Samira’s family, however, refused to leave their home; and because they only had one bloodline and not the potential for two, the woman from the Teneo allowed them to stay behind._

_It wasn’t until Ashi mentioned the woman by name that I understood why I was so patient with this little girl._

_Ashi only knew her first name: Avigeya. An original bloodline connected her to Ullr’s village; there were no deserters in her lineage, no purely **human** ancestors after her several times great-grandmother was given an inhuman gift._

_Avigeya, after bringing Ashi and Frederick back with her, continued to work as an ambassador of sorts for the Teneo. She was brave to the point of recklessness, and quick as a river in her step and words. Avigeya never spoke to Samira or Frederick again, but she saw them in passing every now and then. Eventually, Avigeya married an earth legacy, despite she herself being able to blow clouds down from the sky with a breath. Counter-circle marriages were rare but not unheard of, and some years later, Avigeya would find herself with two sons:_

_Ruslan and Alexei._

_When I managed to splutter out a semblance of an explanation for my shock, Ashi demanded that I meet her grandmother. The next weekend, I did, and Samira spent an hour staring at me from her chair, wrinkled hands clutching a cane. Frederick apparently was taking a nap and no one dared wake him, but Samira swore up and down in a quavering voice that I was the spitting image of Avigeya, and that her husband would agree with her if he’d bothered to keep awake._

_That day seemed to tip the scales, setting a chain of events in motion. If I could’ve seen the future, if I could’ve known what would happen, I would’ve…_

_I don’t know what I would’ve done. I only know what **did** happen, and that was that I was the center of it._

_Ashi and I became friends far more quickly than any distrusting individuals should. At first, Konstantin was pleased with our friendship. He’d given Ashi a job of sorts in hopes that she’d eventually come onto the team with Ray, Aeron, Sten, and I. Having a doctor on-call was far better than relying on us to tend to our own injuries— and I knew for a fact that even after Ashi came into the scene, Sten still believed that flesh wounds were something he could “walk off”. Needless to say, Ashi spent a lot of time lecturing Sten._

_As the summer rolled around, I started leaving Konstantin’s house on the weekends. The five of us teenagers would spend days out in the countryside, using our legacies with no fear of being seen by a human. We’d mock-fight each other, with Ashi relentlessly scolding us, but she always gave in and patched up our bruises._

_We seized each moment of summer with a passion. There was never an dull moment in those three months. Us five worked together, ate together— every activity was done by the group._

_Ray, naturally, was still the self-proclaimed leader, but she eventually loosened her grip. She didn’t actually trust us to do our jobs, Lord no, but once in a while she’d admit that we were capable of them. Then there was Sten, who got along surprisingly well with Ashi as a fellow earth legacy, and who learned to listen to us once in a while._

_Aeron never fully forgave me— for what, though, I’ll never know. He did get better as time went by, but sometimes I’d catch him out of the corner of my eye with that hateful look upon his face, and an orange spark would skitter across his hand._

_But Ashi and I, we grew inseparable. I remember one day, about mid-July, when I knocked on her bedroom door. It was directly across the hall from mine, and we’d grown a habit of spending our free time with each other._

_“It’s unlocked,” Ashi’s voice rang out, and I opened the door._

_The walls of her room were covered in shelves, full of boxes and jars and rolls of fabric— she wanted to be a designer when she grew up. There were exactly twenty three sketchbooks stacked up on Ashi’s desk; I counted them all one day when she’d lost one and asked me to help look for it._

_Ashi was standing by a mannequin, clutching a measuring tape like it was a projectile weapon (and I knew from experience she would not hesitate to use it as such). Her hijab was a beautiful pink today, with the little gold pin in place like always. It was a gift from Samira, and had been given to her by Frederick as a wedding present. There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t see Ashi wearing it._

_“I’m trying to figure out what I want the outline to be,” Ashi said, eyes still fixed on the mannequin. She was speaking louder than normal; she didn’t wear her hearing aids when she didn’t have to, they dug into her ears sometimes. “No matter what, I’m thinking yellow for the main color— ‘cause it stands for happiness, you know— but do you like white or copper for the accents?”_

_When I didn’t reply, Ashi looked up at me, eyebrows knit in concern. “Gale?” She asked. “Is everything okay?”_

_I took a deep breath and raised my hands._

_**Yes** , I signed. **You?**_

_Ashi clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes shining with tears. She threw a volley of words at me with trembling hands, most of which I didn’t get, but I caught the word “understand”._

_**Slow** , I interrupted her. Ashi broke off, hanging on my every gesture. Thinking back to the videos I’d memorized, I carefully moved my hands. **Remember you say… take out hearing aids… now we can talk—**_

_Ashi launched herself at me and flung her arms around me. For a moment I was flabbergasted— I had no idea what to do, all I knew was that Ashi was squeezing me tight enough to break a rib. She kept trying to speak but her words hitched in her throat. I could feel her fingers twitching against my back. There was a wet spot on the front of my shirt where Ashi’s head was._

_“You didn’t let me finish,” I mumbled, fighting down the lump in my throat. I shifted a bit so I could hug Ashi back just as tightly. “I made Konstantin buy me all those books on ASL and you didn’t even let me finish.”_

_Ashi just held me tighter. The heat from her skin radiated off like a sun. For once, I didn’t mind the contact, nor the warmth._

_In August, Ashi asked me if I’d like to meet up with her and her grandparents for the weekend. I said yes, of course, and only bothered to let Konstantin know where I’d be the day before I left. He was… less than pleased that I’d taken so long to tell him, but told me to be careful nonetheless, since we planned to go into town._

_I’d smiled, reassured him that I could take of myself, and left his office. But I didn’t catch the deep frown that cut through his face the moment I shut the door._

_That weekend was possibly the happiest I’d had since my parents had… departed. Frederick drove us four into St. Petersburg. Once we were there, we spent the day walking around the streets, pointing out the silliest, most trivial things like pretty signs or the points on iron fences._

_For lunch, Samira led us to falafel stand that was tucked away among the brightly colored buildings. I’d never had it before, but Ashi cajoled me into trying a bit of everything. I ended up feeling twenty pounds heavier than I came in with._

_We returned to the Teneo just before nightfall, and instead of hitching a ride back to Konstantin’s, I stayed the night at Ashi’s house. Samira and Frederick were kind enough to host me for the remainder of the weekend._

_I remember a lot of things about that weekend, like the signs and the iron fences. I remember the falafel, and the pretty buildings. And the clearest scene that’s been etched into my mind was the morning when Ashi’s hearing aids were on the table, and she asked if I wanted milk with my coffee, and Samira opened her mouth to translate but I was already signing back at Ashi. I remember how Frederick nearly cried, and how Samira was so happy she couldn’t speak to me for two hours._

_I’ll remember that until the day I die._

_And I’ll forever remember the next “outing” I went on, the day I got back._

_Our job was to find a person for Konstantin, someone who he’d been looking for but couldn’t reach. We didn’t question it._

_It was routine. I was the first to enter the house, opening the door for the others. Ray and Aeron made sure no one knew we were there. Sten grabbed the man out of his bed, and we were on our way._

_Nothing happened. We brought him to Konstantin, who smiled and said he was proud, and that was good enough for us. Then he told us to get some rest, and walked towards the stairs._

_Ashi and I went up to our adjacent rooms. Ray was on the opposite side of the floor, while Sten and Aeron had moved in one floor above. The house was big enough that we could spend a week going about our business and never run across another soul. Except for me and Ashi, of course._

_But the moment Ashi’s hand touched the doorknob, she exhaled sharply through her nose, eyes snapping shut in frustration. “Great,” she grumbled. “Just great.”_

_“Hm?” I lifted my head wearily, just about to enter my own room. I’d been running on fumes for a couple days by now, pushing myself harder and harder. Konstantin was bent on me controlling my legacy, breaking the limits of it with every breath._

_“My computer’s in my workroom downstairs,” Ashi sighed. “I’ve got my color palettes on that.”_

_“’S not like it’ll be gone in the morning,” I yawned, leaning against the wall. “You can go down there tomorrow.”_

_Ashi gave me a mild glare. “I don’t trust any of Konstantin’s guards to leave it be. You know what happened the last time I left my sketching pencils in my workroom?” She rolled her eyes. “They used them to write in reports. My sketching pencils, Gale. Used for common writing.”_

_I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You do you, Ashi. Me, I’m exhausted, so…” I gestured vaguely to my door._

_“Right. Yeah.” Ashi let out a breath and gave me a little smile. “Goodnight, Gale.”_

_“’Night.” I stumbled through my door as Ashi trekked back down the hall, footsteps rapidly receding._

_I committed to a minimal effort, and only swapped my jeans for sweatpants. Kicking my boots off, I promptly flopped face-down on my bed. The second my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light._

_The next morning dawned cold, colder than it should’ve been. There wasn’t a speck of sunlight to be seen. I didn’t think much of it; I only noted that it was unusual, and then got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast._

_Ray, Sten, and Aeron were sleeping in. Yesterday’s “outing” must’ve taken a toll on them— then again, I knew Aeron never passed up on a chance to hit the snooze button._

_But Ashi was sitting at one end of the long dining table, eating quietly by herself. I grabbed a plate from the kitchen and sat across from her. “Morning,” I greeted her, pouring myself a cup of coffee._

_Ashi didn’t reply. When I glanced up at her, I saw that she was pale. “Ashi?” I said, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”_

_She took a moment to respond, green eyes boring a hole in her plate. “Gale,” she began slowly. “Is Konstantin a good man?”_

_The query smacked me in the face, leaving me nothing but befuddlement. “What do you mean? Of course he is.”_

_“No, think about it. Really think about it.” She looked up at me, holding my gaze with a frightening intensity. “Don’t just say the first thing that comes to mind.”_

_I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “Ashi, I get it. You’re more new to this than I am, you’re having second thoughts. Believe me, all of us have had them.”_

_Annoyance flashed across her face. “No, Gale, you’re not listening—”_

_“Konstantin took us in,” I continued, despite Ashi’s irritation. “He gave us a home, a team— a future. If he hadn’t helped me, I’d be a Siphon by now. Echelon-less. Honor-less. But because of him, I’m going to change the world.”_

_Ashi’s fingers fluttered, dancing over the handle of her knife. “What if he’s wrong?” She whispered._

_“What?” I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Konstantin has the guts to do what the Council won’t. Sure, we break a few human laws here and there, but that’s all they are. **Human** rules.” I pointed at her from across the table. “You and me? Ashi, we’re more than the humans could ever dream of. We’re going to inherit the world, Ashi,” I shrugged casually, reaching for my coffee mug, “and we’ll fix it. Right its wrongs, end its wars, eradicate its plagues.”_

_An awful, sorrowful look gleamed in Ashi’s eyes. For a moment, I was struck by her image: seated on wood, a backdrop of glass, iron-gray light seeping in from the cloudy morning. The emerald hijab brought out the deepest green in her eyes, the gold pin reflecting a speck of copper buried in her irises._

_“Gale,” she said with an exhale, like she was sending me off on some great voyage. “Last night, I…”_

_Then Ashi glanced around the room, peering at the doors and hallways that fed into here. I nearly turned around in my chair to do the same, to look for whoever she was searching for. “What’s wrong?” I asked her for the second time that morning. And like before, she refused to give me a straight answer._

_**Last night** , Ashi signed, the movements contained and furtive. **I went downstairs. Remember?**_

_I didn’t understand the need for sign language, I could see the imprint of her hearing aids through her hijab. But I went along anyway. **Yes** , I replied. **You left your computer in the workroom.**_

_**I found it** , Ashi signed. **But… I saw something else.**_

_The color was draining rapidly from Ashi’s face, and something in the back of mind shook off the dust, realizing just how shaken she was._

_**One of the guards?** I asked._

_She started to shake her head, then switched to a nod._ **_Lots of them. They had the man we brought back last night with them. And…_ ** _Then Ashi paused, and signed the letter “k” followed by the motion for “wind”._ _**K was there. He…** She struggled for another moment, and then the turbulent emotions seemed to harden. **We need to leave**._

_“Excuse me?” I said out loud, my voice ringing out in the empty room. Ashi shot me a glare, but there was a fearful gleam in her eyes that made me shut my mouth. **Why?** I signed._

_**There was blood everywhere.** Ashi’s jaw clenched as her hands flew about, forming the words she refused to speak. **And that man… the guards brought in bags. Lots of them. The heavy kind. You have to listen, something’s going on—**_

_“Good morning, you two.”_

_I whirled around only to see Konstantin strolling into the dining room, dressed in a grey suit so pale it was nearly white. He smiled brightly at me and Ashi, who’d clamped her hands down in her lap the moment he’d walked in._

_“Morning,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. The ominous atmosphere was beginning to lift, and I felt the knot in my gut loosen. “Any plans for today?”_

_“Ah, no, actually,” Konstantin glanced up at me as he took a seat farther down the table, reaching for the plate of bacon. “I’m afraid I won’t be available until the evening, I’ve got something I need to dispose of.”_

_Ashi suddenly sprang up from her chair, making it scrape loudly against the ground. Konstantin blinked up at her, the corners of his lips turning ever so slightly down. “Ashi?” He said curiously. “Is there an issue? Is that why you two—” His gaze flickered over to me. “— were speaking in sign language just before I came in?”_

_Ashi’s hands were shaking; she clasped them behind her back so Konstantin wouldn’t see. “No, I just… my hearing aids just ran out of batteries,” she said in a louder-than-normal voice, and walked around our end of the table towards the hallway. Konstantin’s eyes followed her for a brief moment, but then he returned to filling his plate._

_But Ashi stopped in front of my chair, shifting so a good part of her body was hidden from Konstantin. “My grandparents are planning dinner for Eid al-Adha tomorrow,” she spoke clearly, but her hand fluttered low against her stomach. “We’d love to have you there to celebrate with us. There’ll be lots of food, and we all give presents. It’ll be great.”_

_“Um…” I faltered, staring at the series of gestures she was making. “Yeah, sure.”_

_Ashi smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Awesome. The celebration’s two days long, though, so make sure you pack a bag.” She stressed the last part, just enough for me to hear. Her eyes locked with mine, and all of a sudden I felt a rock drop into my stomach. Something was wrong._

_“Okay,” I said simply. “We can work everything out as we get there.” Ashi nodded once, and walked quickly out of the dining room. As she turned into the hall, her green hijab shone under the lights, turning it to emerald. Then she was gone._

_Konstantin didn’t speak for the rest of breakfast. He was captivated by a newspaper, pouring over each section like they contained the secrets to immortality. I stayed there for another half-hour, quietly eating my food and sipping my coffee. But the entire time, my mind was racing back to Ashi’s words— not the offer to celebrate with her family, but the words she’d been signing at me while she spoke._

_**We have to get out of this house.** _

_**He is not who he seems.** _

_I did not see Ashi again._

_After breakfast, Konstantin called Sten down from the gym. He told us two that, in the absence of other missions or training, he thought it was a good idea for me to visit some other echelons. I didn’t question him._

_Sten drove us to the Ironblood facility in one of Konstantin’s cars. It was an hour’s drive away. We spent the whole day there, walking among the dorm buildings and the guard posts. Ironbloods were responsible for keeping the humans out of our small community, and thus they were always on call to patrol the land we’d claimed so many years ago._

_I remember Sten was the most excited I’d ever seen him. He was proud to call himself an Ironblood, and he was even prouder to brag about his echelon to me, an outsider. He enthusiastically introduced me to their commanders, and even to a Councilman who’d since retired from active duty but was nonetheless an Ironblood through and through._

_When we finally drove back, night was beginning to fall. Sten raced along the country roads, sending plumes of dirt skittering behind us. I threw my hands up to the sky, turning the air to silver that left comet trails in our wake. Sten called me a show-off. I laughed, and told him to stick to driving._

_Konstantin asked how our day was. I told him I’d learned a lot, and that I wouldn’t mind visiting the headquarters of the other echelons. He said he’d think about it, and then told me to get some rest._

_As I went up to my room, I saw that Ashi’s door was ajar. She’d been so worried earlier, I wanted to talk with her, to give her some words of comfort. So I pushed the door open, and entered her bedroom._

_The room was bare._

_The twenty-three sketchbooks were gone. The countless jars and rolls of cotton and silk were gone. The fairy lights she’d strung around the bed frame were gone. Even the blankets and sheets were gone. Everything was… gone._

_Ashi was having second thoughts, I reasoned. She probably just moved back in with her grandparents._

_Before I could doubt myself, I turned around to leave. But a brief flash of gold caught my eye, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Twisting my head, I saw it again; it came from underneath Ashi’s desk._

_I bent down, the carpet digging into my knees as I squeezed under the desk, hands scrabbling along the baseboard. Something cool touched my skin, something long, with an edge. I curled my fingers around it, and scooted out, sitting against the desk as I held the object up._

_It felt like metal, but there was something wet on the side. The room was too dark to see, so I carried the little object across the hall and into my room. Flicking on the light, I held the mysterious thing up._

_It was Ashi’s golden pin, and it was dripping blood._

_In my life, I have only vomited twice out of fear. The first was the night my parents were killed. The second was when I found the pin._

_I packed my duffel bag three times. Each time, I found myself second-guessing every action, every thought, every breath I’d ever had. In the end, I filled the bag with the most nondescript clothes I possessed, and as an afterthought, threw in every expensive thing I’d bought with Konstantin’s money._

_I left through my window. I didn’t know how fast I flew away from Konstantin’s house, but I knew that if I was crying, I certainly couldn’t feel it through the buffeting wind._

_In St. Petersburg, I sold my watch and bought a ticket for a boat that left in an hour. Then I handed over a pair of pearl earrings to the first mate in return for his cooperation. He agreed to say I was his niece, so no one would question the fourteen year-old girl traveling by herself._

_The voyage lasted nineteen days. On the twentieth, I disembarked in Manhattan. I had no one to go to, and no idea what to do next._

_It took me three months to lose my accent, not that it was heavy in the first place. I knew my best chance of keeping my freedom was to be anonymous, so I did what I do best: I adapted. Let my hair grow out, spoke like I was born here, and most importantly, lived without any other supervision._

_With the last of my money, I bought a guitar. It wasn’t easy to start with, but I had a decent voice, and people pitied kids. I got used to living in an alley, and when I couldn’t bear the weight of the smog and stench of garbage, I climbed up to the rooftops, and I used my legacy. I flew for myself, not for a single other person. Not because someone else wanted me to._

_As for Russia?_

_I pushed my memories aside and dropped them, with a little gold pin, somewhere between a house full of sleeping, living weapons, and a boat that carried me across the sea._

Author’s Note: Okay, so something I really believe in is representation. With writing Ashi’s character, I did research, I looked for accurate information about Muslim culture and tradition. But I’m not Muslim, and I know I’m far from perfect. So if _anything_ I wrote is wrong, if _anything_ if just the slightest bit off, _please please_ ** _please_** let me know. The last thing I want to be is inaccurate or offensive. Like I said, I believe in representation, and that includes every religion, every race, and every kind of human being.

Also, a lot of the historical things I mentioned really did happen. The Vikings did come in contact Arabian ambassadors in present-day Russia, at Volga. Which is really cool, once you think about it. Or maybe that’s just me, being a history nerd.

And, because a beautiful person in the comments thread suggested I put in fun facts about the Teneo at the end of each chapter... 

**Teneo Trivia #1: The first design for a flush toilet was created in 1596. However, the Teneo had such an invention three centuries prior, much to the chagrin of the poor water legacies who were designated to that specific post.**


	45. Just gimme a break for once

I didn't feel much like talking to anyone when Rogers and I came back from the cafe. The trembling hiss of the wind still looped back through my head, cutting through the noise of the human world and whisking me away behind a layer of thick fog. If I wanted to speak, I could— but I highly doubted I'd get far without spacing out.

While we were in the elevator, I could feel Rogers staring at me. Every now and then he'd suck in a breath and open his mouth, but he never did say what he wanted to. By the time the doors slid open, the words had been consigned to the back of his mind.

I immediately began walking to the stairs. The light flooding in from the windows was blinding— it ricocheted around the main room, making every surface gleam in a _human_ way that made my eyes hurt.

"Gale, wait a minute—" Rogers called from behind me. A sigh tumbled from my lungs, and I paused mid-step.

His hands were outstretched, but he was far enough way that he couldn't touch me. "Please," Rogers said quietly. His posture was deliberately peaceful, and I couldn't tell if I was grateful for the effort or insulted at his assumption. "Look, I know you— you won't share a single thought of yours until you're absolutely sure it won't come back to bite you, but _please._ If you tell me what's going on, I can help you."

" _Tye pole't gresta-mecin, ni mére-ana ner foray sí."_ Even though I tried my best, the letters still came out harsh; the 's' whistled sharply, the 'g' fell ugly and thick on my tongue.

Confusion registered in Rogers' eyes. "Gale—" He hesitated, those forgotten words coming to mind once more. "I don't— I don't understand."

_Because you're human._ I wanted to tip my head back, let the light run through me just to show that _I am not like you._ That _you can see me, hear me, reach out and touch me and you will still never understand me._

"I said I'm tired." There, human words so he'd comprehend them. "And I need to rest."

The corners of his lips turned further down, and a sickening lump formed in my stomach. I couldn't deal with Rogers and his _pity_ right now, not when his words screeched in my ears like metal. "Besides," I turned back to the stairs, "I'm sure you've got lots to talk about with _your_ team."

Heart hammering in my ears, I all but sprinted for the stairs. My shoes slapped against the concrete as I raced upwards, shoving through the doors. There was no sound echoing behind me; Rogers had clearly taken my advice.

My legs were buzzing by the time I shut my bedroom door behind me. The air was at least ten degrees cooler than the hallway— I'd never been so thankful for air conditioning in my entire life. And the quiet and the cold made me feel twice as light, and knowing that there was a soft bed and absolutely nowhere I needed to be made me want to just collapse.

But I didn't move just yet. Instead, I tipped my head back against the door and closed my eyes for a second. Everything outside this door, this simple piece of wood that wouldn't stand a chance against anyone in this tower, was too overwhelming. All of the people, the goals, the fears, the constant unnamed threats hanging over my head— I couldn't keep track of them all.

There was Rogers: kind, and strong, and willing to give me space when I needed it. But he cared about what happened to me, and that was caring too much.

Romanoff, who'd be the first to put me down if I went too far— and who had every reason to.

Dr. Banner— a painful reminder of my uncle, who wanted to help but treated me like just another patient, like a child.

Stark, who was sharp and pushy and constantly trying to do the right thing. Stark, whose face grew twenty years older when he saw the pictures of my lungs, whose first instinct was to reach out to comfort me.

And B. No, Barton. Or— I couldn't tell which one he was: the man who shot me down from the sky, or the man who lied to keep me docile.

_Or the man who filled the air with mindless chatter when I didn't feel like talking, the man who was patient and let me be spiteful and vicious without batting an eye, the man who listened when I rambled on for hours about the sky._

He was either the fighter, the liar, or the friend. Barton, B, or... Clint.

_Konstantin always said my friends would let me down._

The momentary quiet I'd had evaporated, and the painful lump rose in my throat once more. "No, no," I whispered to myself, trying to find that horrid human quality in the words that would jar me out these thoughts. "I can't— I don't want to think about—"

_But he's here, and even if you don't want to think about him, you **have** to._

And then there was Konstantin.

Kind, and deceitful, and so _cruel_ it nearly made me vomit. Konstantin, who'd always been lurking in a shadowed corner. Konstantin, who'd waited patiently until my parents were cold. _Konstantin_ , who'd murdered the only true friend I ever had.

Konstantin, who was familiar, who knew me inside out, who made me who I am.

_Konstantin, who made me just like him._

I didn't realize I'd been sliding down the door until I hit the floor. My lungs seized, and instead of a steady breath, a barely muffled sob burst out. My eyes were stinging, my vision was blurry— there was something warm and wet on my cheeks but I couldn't bring myself to wipe it away.

_Every time I had something nice, something **good—**_ _it always crumbled._

Something sharp twisted in my chest. For a moment, fear cut through the tears— I thought it was one of Konstantin's winds. But no, it was just me, sitting alone in an empty room— and I choked on another sob.

 _Maybe this was never good, though,_ I tried to reason as I clumsily dragged the sleeve of my shirt over my eyes, but I couldn't stop crying. _Maybe I just— I just wanted it to be. Maybe I just wanted to stop running everywhere._

In the back of my mind, I knew I should get up. I should sit at my desk and figure out what to do next. But it wasn't my desk, it was Stark's, and so was this tower and everything in it and the all the people—

"Please," I hiccuped, staring up at the ceiling tiles through blurry eyes. "I just— I can't do this. It's too much, it's all too much, I can't go any further—"

Then a fresh, scalding wave of tears spilled over and ran down to my neck, and I gave up on talking to nobody and laid my head in my arms and cried.

At some point, there wasn't anything left in me to cry out.

I didn't intend to sit there for that long, not even one step into the room. But I was collapsed against the door, and to put it simply, I didn't get up.

Once the violent, jerking sobs faded to hiccups, I let my legs extend out onto the carpet and sat like doll on a display shelf, watching the world through the window on the other side of the room. Every ounce of anger, of fear, of _'oh God I can't do this'_ was drained from my body; I'd cried it all to oblivion, and now the last traces of it were only damp patches on my shirt sleeves. The only thing that remained was this impossibly heavy _understanding_ that made me feel hollow inside, like if I tapped my rib cage a deep sound would follow.

Outside, the sun had reached its zenith and passed it by. I wasn't worried that I'd blinked and half the day had vanished. I wasn't even concerned that I wasn't hungry. Because in the end, did it really matter?

I've always been a skeptical person. I never believed in any omnipotent God or any universal supernatural force; the Asgardians didn't count, we knew they were real. But I always thought that humankind's destiny was of its own making.

As people, we are powerful and flawed. We build empires and raze them to the ground. But it's always of our own doing. We're driven to do these things, to seek out the stars and darkest waters just to see what's there. We're born and we learn what others teach us, but then we grow and choose things for ourselves and we _live_. There is no grand, overarching pattern to our lives. We as humans make decisions everyday that lead us on certain paths— no one decides for us.

I believe that our nature is to build our own. That we choose what defines us. And even though I find myself in the same rhythms, marching to the same drum, I still believe that we as humans have a choice. Even though I cannot hold onto people without hurting them, even though my words are so sharp they draw blood, even though my feet burn when they lay idle...

_I have to believe that humans have a choice._

Then the sunlight ricocheted off a skyscraper and into the window, flooding the room with a brilliant, blinding light that pierced every nook and corner for one sheer moment. And—

_Oh_ , I realized, like it was the first time I'd truly understood it.

_Oh, I'm not human._

There is an old name for our gifts in Erui Lammen.

_Iârcolla._

The literal translation is "blood-borne." As in something passed down through families, something that the next child is born with— something they can never rid themselves of. But somewhere along the years since Ullr decimated our first town, the meaning was warped. "Legacy" sounds better, I suppose. It implies that we can change our birthright for the better.

I can live with a legacy; I live with mine every day. Knowing that I have the potential to leave a great mark on this Earth means knowing that mark can scar. Knowing I carry my legacy in my shadow means I try to make it a good one.

My mother's legacy was her courage. My father's was his honor. It was in their natures to be that way, though.

Mama burned through walls and arguments with a snap. She weighed the risks of everything she did and was scared of more than a few of them, but was always on the front lines. And Papa— steady as the marble statues he created, never betraying his ideals even if it would get him the right results.

And I honestly wondered, as I sat here in this room full of light, how I'd never seen it before.

_Iârcolla._

It doesn't matter what my legacy is; in the end, it's blood-borne. It doesn't matter if I wish to be soft, or gentle. I can chase kindness until the sun dies and I can dream and _dream_ about letting myself be happy _for once in my life—_

Slowly and surely, the sun passed behind a cloud. The light faded from the room, blurring the lines of the shadows. I halfheartedly raised my hand, fingers curling to trap the sunlight so I wouldn't be alone in the dark, but the light slipped sideways through my fingertips and vanished.

All of a sudden, the cold hit me like a freight train. Goosebumps prickled along my arms, and I sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the way it burned the inside of my throat. I hadn't felt this way in years, hadn't been cold to the bone since a winter day with a lake and silhouette with silver hair.

_Iârcolla—_

_Heaven help me, I am not human._

And my chest seized again, but I didn’t cry. No, this wasn’t despair, this was an understanding. And it was grief, too, because I understood _exactly_ what I was doing in that moment. I understand _exactly_ what I was giving up.

It happened quicker than I thought it would.

_I’m in pain_ , a thought whimpered. _I want it to stop. I want to stop feeling this way._ _Don’t let me feel these human things. I don’t want to feel this a moment longer._

I felt my heart twist as the words echoed in my head, but it hurt a little less. My eyes stung for a second, and then there was the gentlest of breezes on my face, brushing my hair back.

**_You have a choice, dearest one, between the halves of your nature._**

_I choose silver._

And like a puppet cut from its strings, the last fragments of my heart, the final pieces of me that did nothing but bring me pain, tumbled down into a grey fog without a sound.

It didn’t hurt anymore.

The room was no longer cold, the shadows no longer dark. I blinked, and when my eyes opened there was a silver tinge to everything I saw. It felt… strange, to say the least. But not unpleasant— no, it could never be, not when this silver I saw and felt and breathed was simply _who I am._

_Who I am…_

The words echoed in my head like the _‘ping’_ a rock made when you threw it into a cavern. Noise, bouncing through empty space— no, it wasn’t empty, it was full of air, of _wind._ Bursting at the seams with silver that I couldn’t see before.

Sitting here on the floor, with red eyes and dried tears on my cheeks, I’d never felt so in tune with the wind. With _my_ wind, _my_ legacy. I could map out ever breeze, every gust, every whisper… and I never wanted to stop feeling it all.

Suddenly, there was a tremor in the air.

I perked up immediately— even though I couldn’t hear a thing, I knew someone was walking down the hall. Their footsteps were silent, but hesitant; the air quivered around them like heat from the pavement in summer.

As the person neared my room, I thought they’d pass it by, but they halted just outside the door. _Didn’t matter, though,_ I reasoned, staying seated on the floor, knowing they were only a few feet away. _I can deal with a human._

"Kid?"

It was Barton. The door muffled his voice, but I knew exactly what he sounded like. I didn’t know if I was surprised or angry; at this point, I wasn’t anything but silver.

"Kid, it's me." There was a sigh and thump, and the door creaked. Even though I couldn't see Barton, I knew he'd be sitting against the door, legs splayed out in front of him. There'd be a tired look on his face, the kind that made his eyes sit heavy and his jaw hang a bit. "Look, I get that I'm the last person on the face of planet you wanna hear, but..."

His voice wasn't as grating as Rogers' had been. If I'd cared in the slightest what that meant, I would've spoken up— I would've at least tapped on the door to let him know I was here, that I was listening. But the only movement I made was to lower my eyes from the immaculate window to the floor.

Barton sighed again, heavier this time than the last. "I understand that this is your fight, okay? I understand, I really do. And I know that... nothing I say will ever make you want to trust me again."

_Did I ever trust_ _him in the first place?_ I wondered briefly, staring at the whorls and lines of the wood floor beneath me. _It's not in my nature to trust. I know that now._

"I screwed up," Barton was saying, words taut with regret. "And I— Jesus, Gale, what I'm trying to say is that I'd be exactly where you are if someone lied to me like I lied to you. In fact, I think I would've done more than just punch me." A dry laugh echoed through the door. "I would've torn everything to shreds and hit the road. But... you, you can't do that, you can’t run, and... and I guess that's my fault too."

_Yes_ _, yes it is_ , a malicious thought snapped. _It's all your fault that I'm here, that I tricked myself into thinking I had something good._

"You know—" Barton's voice suddenly took a serious turn. "The moment you took down Ullr, I finally realized what you're capable of. Gale, you… you're volatile. If even the faintest whim to do someone harm possessed you, what would stop you? Not me— you can destroy me with a whisper, I know that.”

_It's in my nature to be this way—_ a _nd I'm done denying it._

"But Gale— featherweight—" His voice cracked at the nickname, and I felt the smallest twinge of guilt before the cold whisked it away. "I'm your corner, okay? I need you to know that."

The door rattled as Barton shifted; his palms scraped against the floor and I could hear him bite back a hiss when his joints popped. He was silent for a minute or two, and if I couldn't still see the edges of his shadow spilling out from under the door, I would've thought he'd left.

_If he'd been here before I started thinking all by myself, I would've asked him to stay. But he was human, and I knew I was not._

"JARVIS told me you were crying," he said softly, each word gentler than the last. _Humans cry. I won't weep anymore._ "You don't have to hide, pipsqueak. You know I'm gonna be here whether you like it or not."

A final cry of despair swelled up in my chest, and I nearly broke down again. My hand jerked upward toward the door handle, but a cloud of silver burst open in my head and I froze.

_You can't do this again_ , my thoughts reminded me. _You can't stay. In the end, it'll only hurt._

My hand fell back to my side.

Barton cleared his throat, loud and sudden. “Alright— I— I’ve been talking too much,” he said in the way guys did when they were emotional but wanted to hide it. “I’ve gotta talk with Nat about the Tower’s security. We’re— we’re not gonna let anything else happen, you hear?”

I heard a sudden, sharp intake of breath through the door, but whatever Barton wanted to say, whatever could've brought the dimmest spark of warmth back— _and it could, if there was anything in the world it was those words—_

Barton’s elbows knocked against the door as he pulled himself upright. His exhaustion was nearly tangible; it clung to the air around him like a thick fog. Then there was a light _tappity-tap_ from the door as he drummed his fingers on the wood for a moment. “I…” Barton sucked in another deep breath, sounding more vulnerable than I’d ever heard him. “I, I don’t… I don’t hate you.”

His shadow silently vanished from beneath the door, off to find some brighter room with happier company. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t even get up from the floor.

A gentle memory tugged at my mind, twisting away from the silver and this cold, darkening room. It pulled me down the hall and up an elevator, all the way to a gravel roof.

_To insulting each other, to tolerating each other, to talking with wild smiles and abandon about the sky. To “Hate you”s, to “Hate you too”s._

The silver seeped through the cracks of the hazy rooftop, and as the warm memory ebbed away for good, it gave a last murmur that glowed, flickered, and finally vanished.

_I don’t hate you too._

**But I have to go.**

Before I knew what was happening, I was up on my feet. I walked, trance-like, over to the bed where the backpack was lying. The metal teeth of the zippers winked accusingly in the dull light— I didn’t know why it was so persecuting, but with my blood running cold and clear, there wasn’t much to worry about.

A flicker in the window caught my attention, and my head whipped up. I narrowed my eyes, walking briskly over to the window. As I neared the glass, a snippet of motion pulsed just to my right.

Eyes falling to my hands, I watched in suspended awe as a glowing ribbon of pure silver light rippled down my arm to my fingertips. It was only there for a moment, but it left a pale echo behind. _It’s like moonlight_ , I thought. _Someone’s taken the moonlight and ran it through my skin._

The sky outside was falling into the evening. Swathes of iron and ashy clouds loomed on the horizon, and even though a thick pane of glass separated me from the sky, I could _feel_ the wind blowing into the city.

“Thank you,” I whispered, pressing a hand against the window.

_For what?_ the sky murmured.

The glass around my hand was growing foggy. Under my palm, it was freezing cold— but it registered as no more than a tingle in my skin.

“For showing me that I don’t have to hurt anymore.”

A deep breath rushed out of my lungs, painting the glass in mercury for a brief second. Then a sudden wave of emotion swelled up within me, as strong and as unyielding as solid steel.

_I can do things the world writes stories about._

Straightening my back, I gazed out at the city below me. Specks of people scurried along the sidewalks, casting uncertain eyes up at the dark sky and quickening their pace. They were worried, I realized, that they’d be caught out in the cold. In the wind.

_I can achieve things people write epics about. I can bring the sky to the Earth and back again._

_I am nothing they’ve ever seen before._

This newfound courage sent mercury streaming down my shoulders in ever-quickening waves. My heart fluttered in my chest; I was so keenly away of every beat, every rush of blood laced with silver.

My eyes refocused on my reflection in the glass. A frown pulled at the corners of my mouth as I registered the clothes I’d dressed myself in this morning. Back then it’d seemed like a good idea to distance myself from Konstantin, to wear colors that scraped against the wind. In the cafe they were a comfort. In this room they stuck to my skin like sweat.

_Now that wouldn’t do._

Turning on my heel, I crossed over the hardwood floor to the closet. Reaching inside, I pulled out the clothes I’d discarded earlier, the ones that made my heart beat cold. Without skipping a beat, I wriggled out of the t-shirt and jeans and changed.

Once I’d finished, I found myself in front of the mirror. Deja-vu nearly knocked me off my feet as I stood there, staring at myself.

_Black pants, grey top, blue blazer._

Very carefully, I raised my hands and began meticulously braiding my hair back from my face. I left most of it hanging down, though; I liked to feel how it swayed in the wind.

Just as I secured the thin braids back with a tiny silver pin, an odd sort of pride awoke in the back of my mind. I’d thought about Konstantin, willingly mirrored him, and not once had my mind stumbled in fear. Not once had I considered running from him.

_He murdered Ashi_ , I told myself, and my reflection’s face drew tight in anger. _He wasn’t surprised when Alexei told him about my parents’ death._

_He wasn’t surprised at all._

I drew in a deep breath. My hands were shaking at my sides; they curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. A sudden anger pooled in my chest— but it wasn’t the kind I’ve felt before, it didn’t boil over and blister. This anger was cold. It was liquid steel, coursing through my veins and coating my bones. There was nothing human about this— this anger was sharp and cruel and _I knew exactly who it was coming for._

I forced myself to unclench my fists, to save the anger for when I’d need it. Then the mirror blinked silver, stealing my focus. I scarcely recognized my reflection—

Back straight, chin up, eyes dark as night but not in the color sense. Dressed in grey and black and midnight blue, silver teasing at my skin. Pale face, devoid of mercy.

A grin pulled at my lips. I looked… _absolute_.

Seeing as I wasn’t human, I had no need to look like one, to act like one, talk like one. I didn’t need to hold myself back anymore— and believe me, I had no intention of doing such a thing, no matter who stood in my way.

Konstantin would come a third time— I knew that with the utmost certainty. Now that I was in his sights, there was no way to avoid a confrontation; and only heaven knew who'd come out the victor. But regardless of what Konstantin did, I couldn't stay in this tower a day longer. Not in a place more memory than substance. Not in a place full of familiar faces and familiar words that constantly set me on edge. So in the end, I would leave with Konstantin or with no one.

Either way, I would be gone before tomorrow.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm an awful person for making you wait so long for an update. Yes, I'm an awful person for making that update a filler chapter of all things. Truth is, school sucks and I have no time for anything ever. Also because there's this weird slice of time before the _real *_ gorn _*_ hits the fan. And a side note: I was gonna ask how many of you thought Gale deserved better, but then I realized that was a Pandora's Box I did _not_ need to open.

However, the three-year anniversary of this story is coming up! Yay!

So I noticed a lot of you guys loved the Christmas chapter, and more than a few of you wanted a continuation of that AU. Now, I'm not guaranteeing anything, but anyone has a suggestion or a strong opinion (let's be honest, who _isn't_ opinionated about everything), drop a comment or message me.

(and I will try my best to ease off on Gale's character development)

**Teneo Trivia #2: Most Teneo own more than one pet; the most common ones are dogs, with cats a close second. However, there have been several cases in which over-confident Ironbloods attempted to domesticate wildlife such as bears, possums, or raccoons. (Coincidentally, the sheer amount of wild-life caused injuries in the community triples whenever such an endeavor is undertaken).**


	46. 3 year anniversary chapter :D

Author's Note: I know, I know, the 3 year anniversary of this story was technically like OVER A MONTH AGO and I AM JUST AS UPSET AT MYSELF AS YOU GUYS ARE. But now, school's out! _But now_ , summer school begins. So there isn't going to be a great uptake in terms of chapters, but I will try my best to devote more time to this outside of taking physics for a couple months.

Also... I have another editor! [Eryn Songg](https://www.quotev.com/TheClassyBurrito) has graciously agreed to review my chapters for this story before it gets to all of you readers. If you're looking for other fanfics to read, she's got a really cool Avengers story (amongst many others from various fandoms). But giving her a shout-out is slightly risky, because if I'm not careful, she's good enough to surpass me at some point in the potentially near future ;)

And speaking of chapters... a lot of you are gonna be happy, because: a) this is a continuation of the Christmas Chapter AU; and b) I've replaced the painful character development with fluff. It's not the best way to apologize for an insane wait (or the sort-of lack of a plot), and it's honestly rushed at some parts, but I hope it brings warmth to your hearts.

(of course, before I absolutely crush your feelings in Gale's next chapter)

:D

When the morning rolled around, I was already semi-awake, so it didn't surprise me as much when a cold, wet dog nose poked my hand.

I refused to open my eyes yet. Judging from what little light filtered through the backs of my eyelids, it couldn't been past seven. Even though the days were growing longer as spring came into full being, the mornings remained cloudy--- which I wasn't complaining about.

Lucky whined softly, which ended in a neglected harumph. Underneath the covers, I felt a tiny grin pull at my lips. "'m up, 'm up," I mumbled.

_Whump whump whump_ went a happy dog tail against the floor.

A groan escaped me as I dragged the heavy blankets off of me. The cold air instantly hit me, and I squeezed my eyes shut. _Screw whoever thought spring should be cold_ , I thought grumpily. _They probably live in Florida._

Lucky bonked his head against my head insistently. "Yeah, I got the message," I said out loud. Forcing my eyes open, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gave myself a moment to adjust to being part of the waking world again.

Lucky was sitting right next to my feet, tail slowly wagging as he stared up at me with his one good eye. A big, goofy dog-grin shone up at me, and I couldn't help but smile back, albeit tiredly. "What's got you so excited this morning?" I asked Lucky. He woofed softly, wagging his tail faster. The dog pranced a couple steps towards the door, looking back at me expectantly.

"Fine, I'm coming, I'm coming." I waved a hand aimlessly, and got to my feet.

The wood floor was cold, and my skin stuck to it a little when I walked over to the dresser in the corner, the only piece of furniture in the room besides the bed and a small desk. It wasn't exactly brand-new-- the paint in the back had splintered to reveal the plywood underneath, and the bottom drawer got stuck if I yanked it out too hard-- but it was better than I'd had in a long time. Even though I didn't have much to begin with, and even though I never stayed around for long, I'd still unpacked all my stuff. I owed Barton that much-- especially after everything he'd done for me.

Staring at the dresser, I suddenly realized that I'd been standing here for an unnecessary length of time. So I pulled one of the drawers open, looked down at the two pairs of pants and three shirts I owned, and then pushed the drawer closed. I didn't need to get ready for the day just yet; I didn't need to go anywhere right now.

"There better be coffee," I muttered as I headed for the door. Lucky was already in the hallway, wiggling impatiently as he waited for me to catch up. Shutting the door behind me, I walked down the hall in the almost-dark that places seemed to be early in the morning.

At the end of the hall, Lucky sped down the stairs in a flurry of fur and clicking nails. He nearly crashed into the wall at the bottom, _again_ , but he swerved to the side at the last minute. You'd think he would've learned his lesson after all this time, but I guess the dog just wasn't aware or just didn't care about launching himself headfirst into a wall.

I descended the stairs at a much more reasonable pace, so by the time I reached the bottom, Lucky was in the kitchen, barking at something I didn't even care what.

"Coffee?" I called out, my voice ringing in the empty living room. I passed by the couch, barely sparing it a second glance, and made a beeline for the kitchen.

There was a happy woof as I came into view of the kitchen. Lucky was sitting next to Barton, who had his back turned as he was pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"As if there's any other way to begin another day on this stupid planet," Barton replied. He glanced back over his shoulder. "My rich friend payed for a new espresso machine. You in?"

"Does he _know_ he's paying for it?" I hopped up on the counter, feet swinging in the air.

"Of course not."

"Beautiful."

"That's not what his voicemail's gonna say."

"All the better. Coffee?"

Barton snorted, but reached up into a cupboard and pulled down another mug. "It's gonna stunt your growth," he told me with a knowing look.

My head tilted to one side. "Yes, but I'm perfect kidney-stabbing height."

A grin pulled at his lips as he passed me the mug, and then settled back against the opposing counter. "No wonder you and Tasha get along so well," he shook his head, "it's scary sometimes."

I raised my eyebrows, taking a sip of piping hot coffee. "Really? _I'm_ the scary one? Dude, last night she asked me which lung I was more emotionally attached to. And I told her I didn't have a preference. And then she nodded and went back to her peanut-butter sandwich."

Barton nodded, not seeming too concerned. "Well, that's Tasha."

"You didn't even invite her over for dinner."

"And?"

"You ordered pizza, I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, she was watching a Russian ballet on the TV! The door was _locked_ , B. The hinges are _rusted_ ergo _I would have heard something._ How does that not worry you?"

"It's just Tasha. If you need to worry about her in the first place, she'll have already done something to take care of you."

"Let me reiterate: _how does that not worry you_."

Lucky barked loudly, cutting our conversation short. He nudged his muzzle against his food bowl, looking up hopefully at Barton and me.

Before Barton could move, I jumped down from the counter and opened a cabinet along the bottom row. "Don't worry, I got it," I said, reaching inside for the bag of dog food. Behind me, Barton mumbled a "thanks".

Once Lucky's bowl was full and he was scarfing down kibble like he hadn't eaten in months, I leaned back against the counter, a mirror image of Barton across the kitchen. We both stood there for a while, sipping coffee in our pajamas. The mug was hot beneath my fingers-- it clashed against the cool grey color in my head, the image sparking something different...

_"What's that?" I perked up from my spot on the couch as Barton shut the front door behind him and set the plastic bags down the kitchen counter with a clunk._

_"Just picked some stuff up while I was out," he replied, pulling out a package of mini-marshmallows. "Did you know they made watermelon flavored Oreos?" He grimaced._

_"Good Lord," I muttered, an identical look of disgust on my face. Setting my book down on the coffee table, I craned my neck trying to see what else he'd bought. "Do I even want to know what else is in the bag?"_

_"Not those Oreos," Barton gave a little laugh. "Just the basics: marshmallows, coffee, peanut butter, bread, and dog treats."_

_I stared at him for a good ten seconds. "Wow," I finally said, nodding slowly. "You're... you're really at rock bottom."_

_He shot a mild glare in my direction. "Watch it, feather-weight. If you're being mean, I won't show you what else I bought." Despite having just said that, Barton reached into the bag and pulled out a mug. It wasn't fancy at all; it was a plain grey color without any sparkle or design-- something you could buy at any dollar store._

_"Oh...kay." I squinted at the mug. "Like you don't have enough coffee mugs already."_

_"I do, yeah," Barton said as he opened the top cabinet and set the grey mug next to countless others that had archery puns or sarcastic phrases written on them. "But I figured you've been here long enough to earn your own mug instead of using mine all the time."_

_I paused for a moment, leaning back into the couch. "Why? I mean, why'd you pick that one?"_

_"Well," Barton paused, thinking about it. "I saw it, and you know I have awful impulse control, and grey's your favorite color anyway--"_

_A sudden, jolting suspicion seized me; my back instantly straightened, gaze snapping up to meet Barton's."How'd you know that?" I cut him off, frowning._

_But Barton simply gave me a deadpan look, like he thought I was crazy. "Because you told me," he said slowly._

_I snorted, crossing my arms. "And you remembered?" I asked him sarcastically, already dismissing the absurd notion._

_"Yeah."_

_His words hit me harder than I thought they would. Barton had already turned back to putting away his miserable excuses for nutrition, so he didn't see the confusion that rippled over my face._

_People didn't just remember things like that. I certainly didn't expect Barton to-- I mean, I'd only said I liked grey once. Once, and he remembered it. But it wasn't the words he'd said that threw me off balance, it was the way he said it. Like of course he remembered. Like of course people cared enough to pay attention to what someone else said, even if it was trivial and meaningless like a favorite color._

_Like of course, people should care about favorite colors said in passing. Like of course, people should **care** without being expected to, because I certainly didn't expect Barton to remember, much less care._

_The next morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after that, I used the grey mug._

"Whatcha thinking 'bout?"

My head shot up, eyes meeting Barton's. He was looking at me expectantly, and I realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Hm? Oh, nothing much," I brushed it off, taking another sip of coffee from the grey mug. "Just wondering how I'm gonna leave."

"Leave?" Barton repeated incredulously. "You're gonna take off?"

"Sure," I said like it was obvious, idly rubbing away a spot on the handle of the mug. "I can be packed and ready to go in five minutes, tops. You know, I'm leaving by tomorrow."

Barton half-grinned at me, not worried in the slightest. "You've said that every morning for six weeks," he said steadily, with all the confidence in the world. "And you never do."

"And _you_ never know." I pointed a finger at him. "I could be serious this time."

"Alright, alright, I get it." He held his hands up in surrender. "Just remember to grab your guitar when you go." Barton nodded towards the instrument in question, where it hung on the wall in the living room next to some archery award Barton had won. The guitar case was shoved into the closet near the base of the stairs, gathering dust alongside a few old blankets and sheets and torn-up dog toys.

"Glad we're on the same page," I muttered. Raising the mug to my lips, I found there were only a few drops left. I set the mug down on the counter with a slight scowl. "Guess it's time to start the day."

Barton perked up at my words. "Hey, speaking of that--" he started.

_BRIIIIIIIIIIIIING!_

The landline cut him off harshly. It was only a couple feet away from me, so I decided to pick it up before it could screech in my ear again.

"Hi, welcome to Chili's," I said calmly.

_"Is that- kid, is that you?"_ Stark's voice crackled from the phone. _"Put Barton on."_

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about."

_"I'm gonna freakin'-- just get Barton!"_

"Carton? I'm sorry, we don't take donations." I tried not to let the absurd grin on my face leak into my words. Across the kitchen, Barton smothered a grin with his fist, desperately trying to compose himself.

_"He's right there, isn't he? Am I on speaker? Barton? BARTON!"_

"Sir, I think you have the wrong number."

_"AN ESPRESSO MACHINE? REALLY?"_

"Would you like to speak to my manager?"

_"I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU KEEP GETTING MY CREDIT CARDS--"_

"Would you like to speak to my _regional_ manager?"

_"--I AM NOT AN ATM--"_

"To submit a complaint, press one. To speak to a person, press two. To--"

The line went dead. I looked up at Barton, who holding his breath in an effort to keep quiet. "I think he hung up," I said pleasantly. "How rude."

Scarcely a moment later, Barton's cellphone began to ring in the pocket of his sweatpants. Without skipping a beat, he accepted the call and held it, receiver-forward, towards me.

"Hi, welcome to--"

There was a muffled scream, and the call ended. I wordlessly gave Barton's phone back, both of us grinning like idiots. "Never leave," Barton chuckled, eyes crinkling with mirth at the corners. "Please."

"No promises," I shot back, a wicked grin betraying my words. "Now, what were you saying before your rich friend reminded us that we're awful people?"

Barton's wide smile eased, but not unhappily. "Right, right," he nodded, "about today. Well, I was just thinking that... you know, the guest room is kinda barfy to look at. And you've been here for more than a while." He scratched the back of his neck, staring off into the living room. "About time to paint it. Why don't we just get it over with today?"

"Uh..." I frowned, not exactly sure why I needed to be involved with that. "Okay... I guess... I'll just stay here, make sure Lucky doesn't do anything stupid again."

"Nah, he'll be fine." Barton waved a hand at the dog, who had fallen suspiciously quiet. Lucky was sitting perfectly still-- God knows how long he'd been there-- just staring at the two of us. He wagged his tail slowly, then bowed his head and opened his mouth. Twelve frozen tater tots spilled out onto the kitchen floor. Lucky seemed very pleased.

Barton and I stared. "Is that-" I started hesitantly.

"I don't want to know where he got those." Barton shook his head. "I guess that means I'm leaving him in the yard."

I sighed. "No, it's fine, I'll stay behind."

"Gale, he'll be alright," Barton assured me, waving a hand in a placating gesture. "Besides, you're living in the guest room right now, you should have a say in how it gets decorated."

I shifted my gaze to the floor, mulling the offer over in my head. I mean, it was nice of Barton to suggest that and all, but it was _his_ house. _His_ guest room. I didn't own anything under this roof; when it came down to it, I was still a stranger, living in another stranger's home.

_I'm only temporary_ , a familiar old thought whispered.

And despite it being the truth, I realized I didn't want to think about that right now.

"Alrighty." I shrugged, and straightened my back with only a few pops and cracks. "It's all the same to me."

Barton's car was a beat-up Honda Civic that might've been blue at one point, but was anyone's guess now. The seats had several dubious puncture holes and if you weren't careful, you'd sit on a scorch mark and get ash on your pants. The inside of the car smelled perpetually of sawdust and dog food, despite there being two air fresheners hanging from the rear-view mirror and about eleven more pushed to the far back on top of the dashboard.

I thought I was going to die the moment I opened the car door.

Barton had to toss a crumpled wad of Subway receipts that'd taken residence on the driver's seat in the back before he got in, and by then, I was mentally writing my will. "Don't make that face," Barton admonished me, turning the keys. "You've been in here a million times, and you _always_ make that face."

"Is that smoke?" I pointed at the hood.

"It's not that bad," Barton insisted as he pulled out of the driveway. "This car gets me everywhere I need to go. It's perfect."

"Uh, it's a _health hazard_."

"I'm an excellent driver."

"And I'm gonna get dysentery just by sitting in this thing," I fired back, double-checking my seat belt. "When'd you buy this rust bucket anyway?"

Barton shook his head, giving me a dirty look. "I take you in, give you coffee, feed you pizza, let you pet my dog of all things-- and _this_ is how you thank me?"

"Whatever," I snorted, looking out at the window. "Just don't kill us before we get there."

Outside, the trees that lined the street began to disappear, replaced by one-way street signs and stop lights. Clouds filled the sky, heavy and drooping with rain just waiting to fall. I felt a familiar twinge inside me, an instinct that told me to find the nearest shelter I could. _But it was okay_ , I had to remind myself. _Even if it rains, I've still got a roof to return to. Barton won't kick me out in the middle of a thunderstorm._

_Barton wouldn't kick me out even in broad daylight._

The ride to Home Depot was alright; meaning, we were both in one piece when Barton pulled into the parking lot. There weren't a lot of cars there, which meant there would be less people I'd have to deal with. _Good_. But even though there weren't many other folks inside, it was _cold_ , even for me. I shivered, trying not to look like an extra from the Exorcist as I did so.

"You cold?" Barton asked, glancing down at me as we headed for the paint aisle.

"No."

"'Cause, you know, I told you to bring your jacket."

"I'm well aware."

"You can admit it if--"

"I refuse to acknowledge your assumption," I muttered, speed-walking toward the rows of paint chips at the far end of the store. "I am not cold. End of story."

Barton laughed at that, an infuriating grin on his face. "Sure thing, Gale," he said. "Sure thing."

I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and tried to think of a way to say "I'm not a child!" without sounding exactly like a child. Needless to say, I failed.

Barton stopped next to me, looking at the rows and rows paint chips, creating a checkered rainbow that spanned an entire aisle's length. I glanced up at him. "What color are you looking for?" I asked.

He made a face and shrugged. "I dunno. What do you think?"

"'Scuse me?" I frowned. "It's _your_ guest room. We're doing this because _you_ want to paint it."

An odd expression flickered over Barton's face; I would've missed it if I weren't so paranoid. But for a brief moment, he seemed... upset. "It's _your_ room," he corrected me, quieter than usual. "You're living there."

Before I could reply-- before I even _knew_ what I would say-- Barton broke out of his mini-spell, and wandered over to the green section. "Let's just say, for argument's sake," he called back as he scanned the rows, "that you're in charge of decorating the room. What would you do?"

"I-" I stumbled over my words, still unsure of how to process what'd just happened. "I- I don't know."

"Like-" Barton plucked a paint chip from the wall, holding it out so I could see. "Do you think this would be a good color?"

I took a few steps forward, peering at the colors. "I'd say that looks like vomit," I started, rediscovering a bit of my usual confident tone. "With slight undertones of cat food."

Barton's eyebrows shot up. "Alright, Miss Attitude." He tucked the paint chip back in its place and took a step back. "So are all greens off the list or just that one?"

I looked over the colors, trying to find one that caught me eye. "I dunno," I scrunched up my nose, "I don't really like most greens. Dark green is fine, but for an entire room to be painted that color-- it'll feel like the walls are closer than they actually are." I reached out and tapped one of the chips, already forgetting about the odd conversation we'd just had. "And if truth be told, I really like sage green. But it's not the only color that would fit in the room, 'cause..."

I trailed off as soon as I looked back at Barton. His head was tilted, with his hands in his pockets and a tiny, genuine smile on his face. "No, keep going," he said when I paused. "I wanna hear what you have to say."

_It doesn't matter_ , the old thought murmured. _I'm only temporary._

But for the second time in as many hours, I ignored my instinct.

"Okay," I replied, and for some reason, there was a happy feeling in my chest as I got the "go ahead" to offer my opinion-- and have someone listen for once. "Okay, so I'd stay away from orange, that's a no-brainer. And red... well, it honestly depends. But I tend to like the cool colors better, like blue and purple."

"And grey," Barton piped up.

I nodded at him. "Exactly. And grey. But..." I halted mid-phrase as a thought struck me. "Ooh. _Ooh._ Idea." Without waiting for Barton, I snatched a pale green chip and trotted over to the purples. "What do you think about paler colors for accents? I'm thinking like a deeper purple, leaning away from red. Then in terms of the baseboards and the window frame and all that jazz... not white, it'll look like icing. How about-"

I started pulling out a couple different purples, holding them out for Barton to hold. "How about a light grey, or lavender? It'll still be on the paler side but there won't be so much of a contrast--"

Just then, two smaller kids came speeding down the aisle, one chasing the other. I moved towards the wall to give them more room-- Barton nearly got run over.

The boy leaped forward and smacked the girl on the shoulder. "You're it!" He hollered, and turned on his heel. He raced back down the aisle, blowing past me and Barton for a second time before another figure appeared rounded the corner, stopping him in his tracks.

"Cooper!" The woman scolded the little boy, who'd frozen in his place. "How many times do I have to tell you? _No running in stores_."

"Yeah, Cooper, like Mom said," the girl piped up from further down the aisle. Her arms were crossed defiantly over a Merida t-shirt, a satisfied gleam in her eyes as her brother was reprimanded. "No running in stores."

"And you, Lila--" The mother refocused on her daughter, setting her hands on her mom-jean clad hips. "Don't encourage your brother. I've told you two a million-" She let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her long brown hair fell into her face, blocking it from view, but I could hear her talking to herself. "I turn my back for one second," she muttered under her breath, "and the next thing I know they're sprinting through the store, knocking down everything and..."

"Kids are kids," Barton said, and the mother's head whipped up. Her eyes fell upon Barton and me, like she hadn't noticed us standing there before. Barton gave her a friendly smile and shrugged. "Besides, they didn't do much harm. Just gave us a little startle, that's all."

The woman let out an embarrassed chuckle at that, taking a few steps towards us. "Sorry about that," she apologized, one hand on her son's shoulder. "I told them we were going to paint the kitchen this weekend, and... well, they got excited."

I was about to say something when Barton beat me to it. "No harm, no foul," he said easily. "We're here for the same reason. Eh, well, we're painting a bedroom, but it's basically the same thing."

The woman grinned at that, brown eyes crinkling at the edges. "I think twenty or so home design magazines would beg to differ, but it sounds good to me." She held out a hand to Barton. "I'm Laura."

He shook her hand, the smile still on his face. "Clint, Clint Barton."

Laura's eyes flickered over to me. I gave her a little wave. "I'm Gale, as this idiot here didn't say."

"Gale!" Barton exclaimed, the slightest hint of red coloring his cheeks. I was taken aback for a moment by his offended tone, but Laura cut in.

"At least you're a nice idiot," she said jokingly, and Barton's attention immediately locked back on her. He laughed at that, and both of them were smiling, and--

My eyes shot open wide. _"Holy sh--"_ I whispered under my breath.

There was a muffled giggle behind me, and I whirled around to see the girl-- Lila-- staring at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Holy sh--" She started to say.

"No!" I yelped, and the two adults turned in unison to face me. I felt my skin prickle under their suspicious gazes. "Nothing," I said meekly. "Just... uh..." I grabbed a random paint chip from the wall and held it up. "There's only one of these left, and... yeah..."

"Right..." Barton said slowly. From his side, Laura stared quizzically at me. There was an tense pause where all five of us there glanced between each other.

"So!" I clapped my hands together. "Hope you're not looking for purple, because I call dibs on everything in that section of the color wheel." To my surprise, Laura didn't give me a weird look. She didn't even have that nervous laugh that people get when they want to be literally anywhere else in the world.

"No, I think I'm looking for a light yellow," Laura replied, gesturing towards a section of the wall closer to her and Barton. "Opposite sides of the wheel, in fact, seeing as they're complimentary colors."

Barton looked at her appraisingly. "Quite a brain there, miss. What exactly..." The two adults turned to face each other completely, effectively blocking out everything else from their conversation. I honestly think Barton's eyes were in the shape of hearts while he spoke with her.

_Figures. I have to do everything myself_ , I thought with an amused huff as I glanced back at all the purples.

Then Cooper pulled away from his mother and skipped over to Lila and me. He whispered something to her, making them both giggle, eyeing the top row of the paint chips.

I paused, mid-reach for a violet chip. "What's so funny?" I asked the two kids.

Cooper's brown eyes shot wide. Lila took a step back, and I realized that-- to them, at least-- I was basically a grown-up who'd caught them in the act of... whatever they were doing.

An idea struck me-- _I may look like an adult, but that certainly doesn't mean I have to act like one_ \-- and I crouched down, balancing on the balls of my feet. More or less eye to eye with Lila and Cooper, they eased up a little. "Now," I said in a hushed tone, as if sharing a secret with a trusted friend. "I think that most of these colors are, quite honestly, disgusting. Almost as disgusting as weekend homework, wouldn't you agree?"

Cooper snorted before he could stop himself. Even Lila cracked a grin. I took that as a 'go-right-ahead'.

" _So_..." I drew out the word, glancing back at Barton and Laura, who were immersed in a completely romantic-subplot free conversation. "I think the color that matches my friend's personality best would be..."

I straightened up, walked a couple paces to the right, and snatched the green chip I'd dubbed "cat-food-vomit". "Rather appetizing, no?" I asked the kids, and a pair of smiles broke out. "Alright, your turn." I nodded at them. "Most revolting color you can find. Go."

Lila tentatively approached the endless rows of paint chips, eyes scanning back and forth. They finally landed on a truly hideous shade of neon green. "This one," she said, pointing up at it.

I nodded in agreement. "Yes. I completely agree. That color belongs only in legwarmers, in the eighties."

"Yeah, back in your time," Cooper snickered behind me.

I placed a hand on my chest, gasping dramatically. "Young man, _how dare you_. I'm five, six years older than you _tops_."

"Exactly." The boy gave me a pointed look, crossing his arms defiantly. " _Ancient_."

"Lila!"

The girl looked back at me as soon as I said her name. "Yeah?"

"You're my favorite little tiny one."

"Sweet."

Cooper shook his head scornfully and trotted over to the oranges further down the aisle. "Doesn't matter," he called back, "because I've got an even _worse_ color than that." He whipped a ghastly shade of... squash? Whatever it was, it had no business in the paint aisle. "No one in their right mind would use this. Not even Mom."

Lila's eyebrows knit together. "That's not worse than..." She hurriedly turned back to the greens, and then leaned back to tug on my sleeve.

I nearly flinched.

Nobody got that close to me. Nobody _wanted_ to get that close to me. I've been told I exude a "back the frick up before I make you" kinda vibe, so there's not exactly a line of people waiting to give me a high five. But Lila didn't seem bothered by it at all. _But I did try to make her feel less nervous_ , I reasoned. _And despite how old I feel, I still look like a kid._

Lila's hand found the corner of my sleeve again, and the motion yanked me out my head. "Gale?" She said as if she were repeating herself. "Can you reach the one on the top?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure." I

A bright peal of laughter caught my attention, and my head whipped up. Laura and Barton were ambling back over to us, still fully immersed in their conversation. I tried not to let a grin slide over my face as they neared us.

"So, what do you do?" Barton was asking as they slowed to a halt.

Up on my tip-toes, I glanced back at Lila as I pointed to a paint chip. She shook her head, and I gestured to the next. _It would be a lot easier if they didn't make the shelves this high,_ I thought to myself. _Like, just give us a stepladder or something._

"I do mostly online work," Laura replied, hands tucked in her pockets. "Lots of editing for blogs and websites, some article reviews, a web design here and there. That kinda stuff."

"Sounds cool. I mean, you get to make your own hours and everything-- excluding deadlines and whatnot."

"Exactly!" Laura let out a breath, shaking her head. "You have no idea how hard it is to find a job as flexible as that. Well--" The woman paused, a thoughtful expression on her face as she glanced between me and Barton. I tried not to pay her much attention "You probably do. You know, being a single parent and all."

_Holy--_ I stopped myself before Lila could hear another syllable. _It's nothing_ , I thought, pointing to another green paint chip and seeing Lila's triumphant smile. I wobbled a bit on my tip-toes as I reached for the paint chip. _He'll correct her, it'll be fine._

Barton chuckled, not even sparing a backwards glance for me. "Yeah, it's not easy, that's for sure."

I promptly tumbled backwards and crashed into the concrete floor.

"Gale!" Barton's head whipped around. He and Laura were already speeding over-- Laura I could understand, there was a patented "mom instinct" when it came to kids potentially being hurt. But Barton? He was the farthest thing from that.

Lying there on the floor, ears slightly ringing, I gave him a thumbs-up. "I'm okay," I wheezed, resting my head back for a moment. "Just gimme a sec."

Barton's eyes were narrow with worry. He reached out a hand; after a moment's pause, I accepted it and he pulled me to my feet. My head spun from the sudden change, and without meaning to I reached out for something to hang onto to keep my balance. Something soft snagged on my fingers, and when I blinked, I realized it was the sleeve of Barton's shirt.

"You sure you're good?" He asked me with a reasonable amount of skepticism, still on alert.

I shook my head, eyes falling to the side. My chest was aching, even though the shock of the impact had worn off. "I'm okay, I just..." _Got thrown off-balance._

"Did you hit your head?" Laura jumped in, raising a hand as if to brush my hair from my face. I swerved backwards before she could make contact, and a look of hurt flashed over the woman's face. Guilt began to build in my gut, but I ignored it. _She was a stranger_ , I reminded myself. _And I most certainly do not need a parent's concern._

Suddenly the air felt too hot. It stuck to my skin, a shudder running up my spine. "I'm fine," I insisted, giving what I tried to make a reassuring smile to Laura. "Really, I am. Besides, uh," I looked down at the paint chips clutched securely in my hand, "I think we've got what we came here for."

"Oh-" Barton started, clearly surprised by the sudden change in attitude. "Um... okay, I guess." He glanced back at Laura, who jolted out of her worry and took a step back.

"I won't keep you any longer," she said with a tentative chuckle. "You should get painting before the day's over or you'll never get it done-- believe me, I speak from experience."

"Okay," I exhaled, relieved at the excuse. I handed the horrid green paint chip back to Lila and gave Cooper a little wave, and then started heading out of the aisle. "It was nice to meet you," I called back after Laura, who nodded in return. Barton turned to say something to her and I slowed a bit.

_It was wrong, wrong_ , said that old familiar thought. _Wrong to be still, wrong to be stagnant. Gotta move, gotta run, somewhere, **anywhere**._

The air was still uncomfortably warm-- my fingers tangled in the hem of my shirt as I worked the fabric back and forth, trying to distract myself from the growing unease in my gut. Behind me, I heard Barton mumble a quick goodbye, and then his footsteps quickened to catch up with mine. "You doing alright?" he asked quietly. His eyes flickered over me; I could hear the underlying concern in his voice. "That was a little... rude, for you."

I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, focusing on the concrete floor, the air ducts on the ceiling, the metal scaffolds that lined the aisles-- anything but Barton. "Is it that surprising?" I muttered back, a familiar cold edge in my voice. "I'm a rude person."

“Look, if something’s bothering you—”

“Let’s go.” I interrupted him, speeding up so I didn’t have to talk to him face to face.

We didn’t speak to each other for the rest of the trip. Not when Barton picked up the actual paint cans, not when we walked out of the store, and not when we drove back home.

_**His** home_, I had to remind myself as I traced a curling pattern on the edge of the passenger seat, my finger catching on the seam every other second. _I’m only temporary._

Light flashed through the car in regular beats-- not that there was much that made it through the trees as they grew taller and taller. As the minutes rolled by, the shadowed intervals became longer and longer with less sunlight between them, and before I knew it, the only speck of sun I could see glinted off the corner of the hood and rebounded far, far away from me.

Barton pulled up into his driveway. I was halfway out of the car when I realized that he hadn't even unbuckled his seat belt yet. He'd pulled out his phone and was staring down the screen, a small frown drawing over his face. 

"Something wrong?" I asked, leaning down so I could see him from outside. "You look like someone just swapped your Sprite for vinegar."

Maybe it was the silent car ride, maybe it was the comforting clouds muffling the sky. But instead of tasting steel when I spoke, my words rolled more gently. Not softly-- no, never _soft_ \-- but gentle was possible. And maybe that's why Barton didn't sound disappointed or confused when he replied.

"Nah, it's..." He trailed off absentmindedly, eyes locked on the screen. The light from his phone turned his eyes an unnerving, electric blue. Then he glanced up at me, and the blue faded back to its original shade. "Sorry to cancel on the paint party, but there's a high school in desperate need of substitute bio teacher. I didn't see the call--" Barton checked his phone briefly. "--sorry, _calls_ \-- until now."

I shrugged, ignoring the guilty relief I felt at realizing that I had time alone, away from Barton and his steady words and irritating ability to see the good in everyone he met. _Including me_.

"That's okay," I replied, leaning in and reaching behind the front seats to grab the cans and brushes. "I'm sure I can manage one room by myself." My eyes caught a glimpse of Barton's phone, and I saw a text message reading "CODE REE" in all caps. "Uh... your teacher friends kinda misspelled the color red. Should you be worried?"

A wide grin instantly pulled at Barton's mouth, though he tried to fight it. "No, that's the student's name. If her track record is any indication of why the school is calling me, then she's probably put chinchillas in the vents again."

_"Again?"_

But Barton had already moved on, like airduct-bound chinchillas was a completely normal situation. "I'll be gone-- jeez, at least a couple hours, plus some if she gets detention. Just--"

"Feed Lucky, lock the doors, tape the ballet for Natasha," I finished, rolling my eyes good-naturedly. "And don't host a rave. I think I got it, B."

Barton nodded, satisfied with my answer. He fished a house key from his pocket and tossed it to me; I barely caught it with the paint cans still in hand, which earned Barton a mild glare from my direction. "Hey, if anything happens, my phone's always on," he reminded me, and an odd feeling in my chest told me he wasn't talking about a potential painting mishap.

But I just shot him a half-hearted grin. "I know, I know." Shutting the car door, I turned and headed up the concrete steps. I gave Barton a quick wave as he pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, then fumbled with the key for a second before letting myself into the house.

As soon as the door shut behind me, the atmosphere hit me like a sledge hammer. Even though it wasn't exactly bright and sunny outside, there was still light-- but Barton's living room obviously didn't get the memo. The room felt darker than it did when we'd left, and even the air felt colder. Not that I minded, but overbearingly rational that I am, there was still a part of me that whispered _bad omen_ in the corner of my mind.

But I shrugged away the shiver that ran down my spine. Taking off my shoes, I placed them neatly by the door, right next to where Barton's hideous sneakers would be.

_After the first week, I'd started leaving my shoes by the door instead of keeping them on. I didn't need to wear them around the clock, I knew I wasn't going to run anywhere without warning._

My eyes narrowed at the memory, but I knew it couldn't mean anything. It was just an empty piece of floor space; it didn't mean I had to stay here, that I had to live here.. If I needed to run somewhere, I could. A spot for my shoes didn't change how fast I was.

A muffled woof brought my attention back to the present. Crossing through the kitchen, I unlocked the back door and let Lucky in from outside. After the usual happy barking and prancing around, the dog trotted upstairs, undoubtedly to take a nap on Barton's bed.

"First things first," I muttered to myself, leaning down to pick up the paint cans again. "Don't leave a mess in someone else's home."

I snatched an old sheet from the closet by the base of the stairs, and then headed up to the guest room. I didn't bother turning on the lights in the hall; knowing me, I'd work until the job was completely done, even if I had to stay in that room past dinner. No sense in wasting electricity, I reasoned. 

_And Lord knows I always chose reason above the alternatives._

The same, ominous shiver from before trickled down my back as I stared at the nearly-empty guest room. 

_Why did I bother painting this room when I'd most likely be gone before the week ended?_ I thought, glancing around the room, from the window to the blankets neatly folded on the bed. I'd tried not to get attached to this space, but every second I spent in this house, I recognized more and more of myself in it.

_The shoes, the mug, the guitar_ , a thought murmured. _Seems an awful lot like you're staying here longer than you planned._

It bothered me more than it should've. 

But I couldn't dwell on those thoughts, I knew that. _Like me, they're only temporary._ So I laid out the old sheet on the floor, careful to cover any scrap of wood that might get spilled on. Taking one last look at the blank wall before me, I let out a deep breath I didn't know I was holding, and got to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'd finished one wall and was two-thirds done with another before I realized my heart wasn't in the task at all, not mention my thoughts might as well have been on Mars for all I knew.

Judging from the meager light coming in through the window, it was just before dinner time. I didn't check the time while I was working-- the hours just slipped by while I methodically painted every inch. It took my mind a moment to catch up with the progress I'd made, but as soon as it did, an old familiar feeling struck up inside me. Everything just felt... off.

My hand slowed, the brush still pressed against the wall. Staring at the purple, I watched as the paint dripped from the bush, trickling down the wall in a crooked line. Still wet, the deep purple I'd chosen looked like a bruise in the weak light, and I felt my chest begin to ache with a sudden realization:

_I didn't want to do this._

My eyes stung, and before I got any more emotionally compromised, I dropped the brush on the old sheet, picked up the paint can, and headed for the door. 

Walking carefully down the stairs, I tried to focus on where I was stepping instead what I carried in my hands. Even though it was just paint- it wasn't like I'd never seen it before, like I couldn't handle myself with it-- it grew heavier in my hands with every step.

I headed straight into the kitchen, setting the can down on the counter. As I turned the faucet on, I forced myself to wash my hands slowly, ignoring the irrational urge to frantically scrub and scrape at my skin until every trace of violet had been purged. The water grew hotter and hotter, and that urge grew louder and louder until it _screamed_ \--

I shut the faucet off with more force than necessary. The slightest beginnings of steam curled up from the sink, cupping my face like a demented halo. "Get a grip," I muttered to myself. The sound of a voice-- even if it was my own-- helped snap me out of the stupor I'd been in.

Turning to the abandoned paint can, I pushed down on the lid to make sure it was sealed-- only to have it pop back up. Frowning, I tried to snap in into place, but the lid wouldn't shut all the way. Letting out a deep sigh, I rummaged through the drawers underneath the counter, searching for anything heavy enough I could use to bang on the lid with.

"Get a tile hammer from the garage," someone said from behind me. "Furthest shelf to the left, first drawer down."

" _MOTHER OF-"_ I nearly shrieked, jumping about a foot in the air. Whirling around, I saw Natasha standing in the threshold of the kitchen, hands tucked in the pockets of her black skirt. She was looking at me with an even gaze, unfazed by my reaction. "How'd you get in?" I stared at the woman, whose coat was already resting on the armchair in the living room. "I've got the key right here."

Natasha didn't break eye contact. "I know," she replied calmly. "Coffee?"

I pointed to the pot on the counter, still eyeing Natasha suspiciously. "And how do you know where the hammers are?"

She gave me a flicker of wink, and poured herself a cup. I opened my mouth, thought better of it, and turned around. "I'm not even gonna ask," I muttered, heading towards the garage, a soft chuckle echoing from the kitchen as I went.

Once everything was tucked neatly away-- the paint cans, the brushes, the old sheet, everything-- I flopped down on the couch, an odd exhaustion settling over me. It wasn't the kind you got when you worked too hard, or when you've gone too long without sleep-- it was the bone-deep, numbing exhaustion that came when you simply didn't want to be where you were anymore.

Tipping my head back, I closed my eyes for a moment.

_I'm only temporary_ , I reminded myself, but the words struck the wrong angle in my head.

**_So why was I seeing more of myself in this house with every passing moment?_**

Then the cushions jostled underneath me, and I blinked open my eyes to find Natasha perched on the other end of the couch with her mug of coffee in one hand, already reaching for the remote with the other. "Did you tape the ballet?" She asked, unaware or unbothered by the exasperation written plainly on my face.

" _Yes_ ," I exhaled after a second, too tired to sass her back. " _Yes_ , I taped the ballet."

Natasha gave a little hum, and scrolled through the recordings on the TV until she found what she was looking for. A minute later, she and I were watching ten women with impossibly perfect hair leap across the stage. Surprisingly, I wasn't even fazed by the bizarre events that had led me to this moment.

We sat there for a good half-hour, watching the silent ballet. I don't know if having the TV on mute was conscious choice or if Barton was just procrastinating in buying a new speaker set, but I honestly didn't care. It was just nice to sit down for once and give my brain a break. 

In fact, besides the odd cough or sniff, Natasha and I didn't speak at all. There wasn't a word said until I heard Barton's car pull up in the driveway.

"What'll you bet that he's already ordered pizza?" I said out loud in an even tone.

Natasha shrugged. "It's the weekend."

"So?"

"He doesn't need to place an order. Dominoes has his schedule down."

A short laugh burst out of me just as the man in question himself opened the front door. Barton grinned as soon as he saw Natasha sitting there, but there was a puzzled gleam in his eye as he registered the amused look on Natasha's face and the dying laugh from my side of the couch.

"Everything alright?" He asked, closing the door behind him.

"Perfectly normal," Natasha replied with an innocent smile.

"Completely," I chimed in. "Nothing to worry about. No painting mishaps, no dog problems, no raves. I'd say we're doing just fine."

"Right..." Barton trailed off, glancing between me and Natasha with a reasonable amount of suspicion. "Pizza'll be here in twenty minutes," he continued, tossing his jacket on the coffee table. 

Natasha shot me a wink, and I nearly broke out in laughter again. "So how was after-school detention?" Natasha called as Barton made a bee-line for the coffee pot. He let out a groan, shaking his head.

"Ree has an alibi for everything, including the chinchilla situation," he said, loud enough for us to hear him from the kitchen. "I'd be impressed if I didn't have to babysit her for the whole school and then some. Honestly, that girl's got a brain--" Barton broke off with a sound of disgust. He turned around to face us, holding the coffee pot upside down to emphasize the lack of said coffee. "How _?_ "

Natasha raised her mug in response, making a sad face. "First come, first serve."

Barton rolled his eyes and started putting together another pot. "You're gonna kill yourself with the amount of caffeine you inhale."

I scoffed at that, drawing Natasha's attention to me. "Says the man who put Red Bull in his coffee instead of milk yesterday."

" _Oh_ ," she grinned, "you haven't heard the worst."

"There's _worse_ than that?"

"Hey!" Barton snapped his fingers. Natasha and I turned to face him with identical innocent expressions. "Are you two talking trash about me behind my back?"

"Yes," we unashamedly replied in unison.

Barton threw his hands up in the air, completely giving up on us, and turned back to the coffee machine. Natasha twisted in her seat so she could face me more easily. Taking a sip of coffee, she tilted her head to one side, and I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was studying me.

"So, Gale," she began in a conversational tone. "Have you seen Clint's archery range yet?"

"Do you mean the cardboard cut-out of Edward Cullen he uses for target practice?"

"Oh. It used to be Dolores Umbridge." Natasha made a small "hmph", not too concerned about Barton's grievances against certain fictional characters. "But I'm talking about the actual range. It's about a forty minute drive in good traffic, but he loves the place. He goes on and on about the atmosphere-- between you and me," she dropped her voice to conspiratorial tone, "I think he wants to move out to a farm."

My eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?" I cast another glance at Barton, who was impatiently waiting for the coffee to be done brewing. "I never took him for the closeted cowboy type."

Natasha chuckled at that, looking up at the TV. "He likes the peacefulness of the country," she admitted, a wistful quality entering her voice. "Clint... Clint loves the outdoors and having space to stretch, but he loves his friends more." She waved a hand around the room. "That's why he's in New York, after all. Tony's here, Steve's here, Bruce's here-- sometimes, more often than not, I'm here."

"New York's not the worst city to live in," I conceded. "It's on the way to everywhere."

The wistfulness vanished from Natasha's eyes, replaced by a sharp gleam. "So you like it here too?" She asked, but it didn't sound much like a question. "From what I can gather, you've been here an awful long time." 

"Look," I snorted, ignoring the feeling that I'd just been accused of something far greater than I understood. "I'm not the kind of person who stays in places like this. It's not my speed."

"So what are you doing here?" Natasha asked me without skipping a beat, eyes fixated on me. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was just interested in the conversation. But this was Natasha, which meant there were at least three potential weapons within reach and more than enough time to dispose of my body. So her undivided attention, needless to say, was a terrifying thing to possess.

But despite it all, I shrugged and pulled my feet up on the couch, tucking them neatly beneath me. "I'm here for free pizza, expensive coffee, and this sweet dog's undying affection."

Natasha pulled a face, shrugged, and took a sip from her mug. I thought that was the end of it, but then she spoke up again. "And you believe yourself?"

" _Excuse_ _me_ \--" I started indignantly, straightening my back.

"Would you look at the time?" She cut me off evenly, glancing at her phone. In one smooth motion, Natasha stood up from the armchair and pulled her coat over her arm. Before I could demand a straight answer from the woman, she was already at the door.

Barton poked his head out from the kitchen. "See you soon, Tasha!" He called cheerfully, and turned back to the fridge, where I knew for _sure_ he wouldn't find anything remotely edible.

But instead of letting it slide, I shot up from my seat and followed Natasha to the door, where she was pulling her coat over her shoulders. "Look, I don't know what you're trying to say," I said in a low tone, crossing my arms, "but if you've got a problem with me, don't beat around the bush with it."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored me. 

_Of course_ , I thought bitterly. _After all, I'm just kid, aren't I? I can't handle an actual conversation, is that right?_

So I forced myself to take a step back as Natasha opened the door, a gust of chilly air blowing in from the dark street. "Have a nice night," I muttered under my breath, not expecting a reply.

But halfway through the front door, Natasha paused. Her green eyes flickered from me to Barton, who was now occupied in the kitchen with Lucky, who was hurriedly chewing something he was _not_ supposed to have in his mouth.

"Clint's a good person," she said quietly, hand still on the door knob. "I've known him for over fifteen years, and not once has he ever made me second guess his intentions. Even when anyone in their right mind would sacrifice their morals in exchange for something greater... Clint never wavers. And it's easy to be suspicious of that kind of steadiness; I understand why you doubt him."

For some reason, my cheeks grew uncomfortably warm. Shame wasn't something I was used to feeling, yet nevertheless here it was, and I went from being as bitter as black coffee to feeling about ten inches tall.

"Hey." Natasha's voice brought my attention back to her. Eyebrows creased ever so slightly, she tilted her head. A curl of red hair slipped out from behind her ear. The gold light trickling down from the porch lamp turned it to fire, blazing against the dark street in the background. "Look, I just want to say..."

She glanced at Barton again, who was still struggling with Lucky, and the first genuine smile I'd ever seen crept over her usually guarded face. Suddenly, I felt like I'd been thrown headfirst into a deeply personal moment, like I'd been suddenly accepted into a circle of the most trusted of friends.

The hot shame in my gut twisted once, twice, and all of a sudden it burned a lot more like guilt. "I'm not like you. I don't know how to be in one place," I mumbled, and Natasha's eyes locked back on mine; I immediately dropped my gaze to the floor. It took all my will to resist the urge to shrink back-- I couldn't meet the woman's gaze _and_ her words.

Natasha hesitantly reached out, her fingers brushing against the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I was all too aware of how gentle the gesture was; I knew Natasha was trying with everything she had to be kind. _Something that didn't come naturally to either of us._

"That's one of the best things about Clint." Natasha pulled her hand back, but all of the kindness in her posture flowed into her voice, and the prickling guilt in my stomach began to ease. "He has a habit of collecting strays."

A short breath escaped me, nearly a laugh. "So that's what I am-- a stray?"

"Take it from someone who's wound up in that guest room before," Natasha continued without batting a eyelash. "Whether you want it to happen or not, he's gonna make sure you leave here better than when you came in."

And leaving it at that, Natasha trotted silently down the concrete steps, and vanished into the dark street.

Out of pure reflex, I shut the door. The flow of chilly air and the last of my composure snapped like a kite string. I stumbled back to the couch, taking my usual seat at the very end, and put my head in my hands.

"Gale?"

Barton's voice echoed in the far more empty room, not doubt confused at seeing me so broken down, so vulnerable. But I couldn't bring myself to tell him everything was okay, to _lie_. 

"What am I supposed to make of this?" My voice sounded distant to my own ears. I brought my hands away from my eyes but kept them clasped together, pressing them to my mouth and chin in a parody of prayer. I heard Barton's footsteps come closer, but I didn't care. "What am I supposed to think? Am I staying here, is that it? I don't--" I broke off, desperation leaking into my voice. "I feel like one of these days, I'm gonna wake up and all the doors will be gone and I'll be trapped here _forever_ \-- I feel like if I don't move now, I never will, and I..." 

_And I'm scared._

Barton sat down on the edge on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight. I finally looked up at him, only to find exhaustion--an exact mirror of my own-- lying heavy on his face. "Look, kid," he started, taking in a deep breath. "You don't have to stay. Just know that you can, and that I like having you here." He lifted a hand as if to place it reassuringly on my shoulder, but hesitated. "You're not a burden."

"Really?" My voice was bitter-- it surprised me more than it did him. "Because- because I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm _supposed_ to be doing. I'm just sleeping here, and eating here, and living here without a single clue-- God, _I don't know what I'm doing--_ "

I broke off as soon as my eyes began stinging. I looked away from the man sitting beside me; I didn't want him to see me like this.

"You know," Barton spoke slowly, choosing his words with the utmost care. "It's okay to not know where you wanna go right now." I glanced back at him only to see concern in his eyes. "I don't think anyone's told you that. But it's okay to not know. It's okay to still be figuring things out."

Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn't have. I didn't know how to say _I'm sorry for acting like an ungrateful brat_ , or how to ask if that's even how I'd behaved. I didn't know if he was right, if I believed him-- I didn't even understand how to come to terms with myself on that front.

_You didn't correct Laura_ , I wanted to say. _When she all but called you my father, you didn't correct her._

I just sat there on the couch, staring at my hands.

_You didn't even hesitate._

And as I sat perfectly still, waiting for God knows what, for Barton to say something or for Natasha to waltz back in, I realized with a nearly painful jolt--

_I didn't correct her either._

 _Holy mother of all things good in this world--_ _I didn't say anything either._

_I could've, and I didn't._

Barton let out a sigh, oblivious to my epiphany, and turned back to the television. And I was grateful that he didn't press, that he understood I needed quiet to think and process. Even if he liked to fill the space with meaningless conversation, he understood I didn't. And if I was being completely honest...

The thought of someone understanding that made the idea of staying a bit more bearable.

"I hate to break this to you," I suddenly spoke up, voice still a little creaky. "But I don't think purple's gonna work in the guest-- in my room. It's too... it looks too much like a bruise."

Barton took a moment before answering, staring at the silent TV, the flashing colors reflected in his eyes. "Alright," he said evenly, no hint of surprise or confusion in his voice. "It's not too bad of a thing. Just means we're gonna have to run out to the store again."

I hummed in response, the tiniest flicker of mischief sparking up in me. "Maybe you'll see Laura again," I suggested, my tone just a bit too light to be taken at face value.

Barton scoffed and shook his head, but a tiny grin was tugging at his lips. " _Anyways_ ," he said pointedly, "if purple's a no-go, then which color do you suggest, Oh-wise-in-the-ways-of-interior-decorating One?"

I mulled it over a minute, eyes wandering around the living room as I ran through the options. _Red, orange, yellow, green, blue-_ None of them seemed quite right-- not until my eyes fell upon the kitchen, and the plain mug sitting patiently on the counter. It clicked, and I felt the most truly genuine smile I'd had in years come over my face.

"How about grey?"

Author's Note: It's not the best chapter, I know. I'm so tired, I didn't edit this, it's probably got so many continuity errors and grammar mistakes, but I'm so done with being stuck on this one chapter, I hope you can forgive for this. aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh i'm so freakin ex _hausted_

anyway

that is all

carry on with your lives

:)


	47. I either have you or I don’t

Author's Note: I have nothing to say for myself.

Well, one thing to say, I guess. College apps have been kicking my butt, senior year is driving me into the ground, and ever since school started, I haven't even had the time (much less the mental energy) to even _think_ about writing. I'm so, so sorry that I've made you guys wait this long. But believe me when I say that I'm trying to pull myself out this bottomless pit of anxiety and AP homework.

These chapters aren't the best I've written. In all honesty, I'm sure I could edit these and make them a lot better. But y'all have waited long enough, and I refuse to let the story go dead right at this part.

So here's the final two chapters, my dudes. Now, there are some more action-y scenes in this chapter, so here's some of the gifs I think about when I write about Gale and Konstantin using their legacies-- it might help y'all visualize the movements better:

[LimpFeistyBactrian-size_restricted](https://thumbs.gfycat.com/LimpFeistyBactrian-size_restricted.gif)

[6634e8a14ed78dcf71fc3eb76e649ec9](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/66/34/e8/6634e8a14ed78dcf71fc3eb76e649ec9.gif)

[Korra-airbending-avatar-the-legend-of-korra-40644244-500-250](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/40600000/Korra-airbending-avatar-the-legend-of-korra-40644244-500-250.gif)

[tenor](https://media1.tenor.com/images/99bf955f10ac2783c4a5eaccce4157a0/tenor.gif?itemid=3469988)

[d7fea907fc731886f37e3447f8365a95](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d7/fe/a9/d7fea907fc731886f37e3447f8365a95.gif)

yes they're all Avatar because that was my childhood in a nutshell

And here's my concept image of Konstantin himself (I didn't draw this, all credit goes to the artist): [1cef800bd2fa1e6ca9a8b10475d605f4](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/1c/ef/80/1cef800bd2fa1e6ca9a8b10475d605f4.jpg)

In any case, enjoy these two chapters :).

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

I've always been a very meticulous person. But regardless of the fact that none of my habits had changed much since I arrived at the tower, I felt incredibly unclean. It was almost like a fine layer of silt had settled over my body and stuck there-- dirt in every crack and crease, under every fingernail, plastered to my nose and lips like clay. Oh, everything was _technically_ clean; like I said before, my habits hadn't changed, but there remained a constant pressure from the filth dragging me into the floor.

A frown tugged at my lips, cracking the non existent dirt. Without twitching a muscle, I sent a breeze skittering over my skin, wicking away every trace of dust from head to toe. _That was better._

The easy wave of silver from the breeze ricocheted back at me through the mirror, and my eyes snapped upwards to meet it. It took my head a moment to switch back into the present-- a trait that'd obviously carried over from the dwindling humanity in me. Not that it was gone, no. I could still feel it humming in the deep beneath my chest, ready to wake should I call.

"Two halves. More literal than they told me, it seems." The words slipped out from my lips. I risked another glance in the mirror, and thought for the second time that I looked rather like Konstantin.

"Excuse me?" 

Before I could register the voice, I'd already worked a slip of air as sharp as a scalpel, whirling around to face whoever'd just spoken. But the room was empty-- I was completely alone up here.

"Gale, would you like me to contact Mr. Barton?" The voice asked, and when I realized it was coming from the ceiling, it clicked.

"JARVIS," I exhaled, and let the cold air between my fingers return to its natural state. "What seems to be the problem?"

"You hadn't moved for hours," the AI began hesitantly, "and only after you were on your feet, you seemed to be... talking to yourself."

_He meant the wind._ I scoffed, crossing my arms even though I knew he couldn't technically see it. The gesture made the blue blazer scrunch up ever so slightly across my elbows-- the only mar in my reflection. "Of course you're monitoring me," I replied. "You probably never stopped, did you?"

"No, I--"

"I don't blame you, of course. You're just a program, designed to carry out the tasks Mr. Stark gives you." A thought struck me, and I glanced up quizzically at the tiles in the ceiling. "What time is it?"

JARVIS paused before answering, as if debating whether or not to reply. "Nearing eleven at night, Gale." Then, more insistently-- "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to call someone? It'll only take a second, and--"

But the gears in my head were already churning, tuning out the words spewing from JARVIS's nonexistent mouth. "Going on eleven," I muttered, my gaze falling from the ceiling to the window, and finally to the neatly packed bag lying on the bed. "He's coming."

"Who?"

"The eleventh hour-- oh, the irony's too great for him to pass it by."

"Gale, who is coming?"

I ignored JARVIS and took a few big steps forward, snatching the duffel bag from the bed. I knew I'd packed everything I thought I'd need, but the bag was far lighter than I anticipated. _Well, it's not like I need much to live on-- or had much to pack in the first place._

"I'm calling Mr. Stark," JARVIS said decisively.

Without skipping a beat, I raised my free hand above my hand and snapped my fingers. Immediately, a quick burst of wind ripped through the ceiling tiles like they were wet cardboard, and JARVIS's voice fizzled out. Sparks rained down from the exposed wires tucked away up there, but they were blown away long before they could touch my skin.

A vicious sense of satisfaction ran through me like a lightning bolt. Smoothing down the front of my blouse, I lifted my chin up high, stepped neatly over a chunk of mangled metal, and shut the bedroom door behind me for the very last time.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

If I'm being completely honest, I should've waited, or at least concocted some semblance of a plan. But, seeing as I'm telling the truth, I have to say I acted a tiny bit impulsively. After all, you can't just _walk_ out of a skyscraper in which you've been placed under house arrest. But here I was, heading briskly down a deserted hallway with all the certainty I possessed. If I got out of the building without being stopped, then great. If someone wanted to play _hero_ , well... I didn't have a problem with getting my hands dirty.

Ullr could attest to that.

As I came out into the main room, I couldn't help but slow my pace a little when I passed the glass wall. _Calling it a window doesn't do it justice_ , I thought as I gave myself a moment to let the sight of the city and the dark sky sink in. Even though I never wanted to see this tower again, I had to admit... Stark had some pretty good designs.

My head turned a fraction of an inch, and something silver winked at me in the glass. Taking a second to focus on the underlying reflection, I realized it was the little pin in my hair, keeping the thin braids from falling into my face. The pale image of the pin glittered more brightly than the rest of me, hovering like a ghost in mid air. I watched it for a second or two, letting the neon lights in the city below fade out of focus.

_But_ , the rational part of me spoke up. _As pretty as it is, I have to move on, or I'll lose my chance forever._

So I readjusted my grip on the bag and turned back around, eyes falling on the elevators all the way across the room. No time to waste. But just before I reached halfway, the air around me stiffened, reacting to something a split second before my mind caught up. _Voices, footsteps, people-- coming this way._

I walked as quickly as inhumanly possible, but my heart sank as I realized that whoever was coming was walking down the hall by the elevators, not the one that ran through the balcony ringing around this room. There was no way I could get into the elevator before they saw me.

As the voices grew louder, I took a deep breath, and prepared myself to do whatever was necessary to get past them.

"... love you, but I'm not leaving just because you've got a bad feeling."

"It's not a feeling, Pep, it's a hunch."

"How is a hunch different from a feeling?"

"More evidence, less superstition. But-- look, the point is I need you, and I need you to be safe, and right now "being safe" means---"

They rounded the corner, and my back straightened as I slowed to a stop. It was Stark, and... someone I hadn't seen in a very long time.

"Gale?" Pepper Potts, immaculate as always, paused mid-step as she saw me standing quite alone in the middle of the room. She glanced back at Stark, who was wearing a frown that only got deeper the more he stared at me. "I thought--- I thought you wouldn't be out and about for another week."

Before I could speak, she rushed forward, reaching out with one hand. Then a thought seemed to strike her and she yanked her hand back like it'd been burned. "Are you-- I mean, do you--"

"I didn't think anyone would be up this late," I said evenly, and Pepper's eyebrows knit together in confusion. I felt a brief pang of guilt-- even though I'd given up on all warm emotion, I knew that I was more or less indebted to her; she'd shown me kindness when I'd given her no reason to, and for that, I owed her.

"It's..." She started softly, the lingering hurt still in her eyes. She took a small step back. "You _do_ remember me, right?" Her phrasing struck me as odd; I didn't know that she'd been kept _that_ much out of the loop.

"Of course I remember you," I replied, edging to the side. _But I must move on._ "Now, if you'll excuse me--"

"Whatcha got there, kiddo?" Stark jumped in, but there was no humor in his voice. He nodded down at the bag in my hand, expression neutral. "Seems to me like you're actually forgetting something pretty important."

"I don't answer to you," I shot back as I began walking toward the elevator. "And I certainly don't answer to SHIELD."

Stark took a deliberate step to his right, blocking my path. I stopped again, but my patience was wearing thin at this point. I was all too aware that the longer I waited, the more time Stark had to call someone else. "Kid," Stark began, and a flicker of light caught my eye, distracting me from what he was saying. _Something red, barely there._ "I know this whole Konstantin business has you rattled, but you can't leave."

_In his pocket, something red, something blinking red._

"He called you." I shook my head, failing to hide my irritation. "Of _course_."

"Who?" Pepper asked behind me, still bewildered by-- well, everything. "Tony, what's she talking about?"

Stark kept his eyes on me, and I suddenly got the feeling there would be a lot more resistance than just him. "I programmed JARVIS to notice alarming changes in behavior. Well, technically speaking," he shrugged, the movement tense, "I made it for Steve, so the "behavior changes" we're looking at more along the lines of "panicking and about to pull a truly stupid stunt", so when I'm walking with my girlfriend and JARVIS tells me which protocol just got tripped... you can imagine which direction I'm headed."

"I'm not--" I gritted my teeth, fighting back a much sharper retort. The air was starting to weigh down on me; I needed to move, I needed to go _anywhere_ as long as it was somewhere else. "Think about it, Stark. If I leave, all the crazy things that follow me will leave too. So, assuming you and Miss Potts were discussing her safety in light of Konstantin's habit of showing up unannounced, you should be glad to see me-- and by extent, him-- leave New York to never return."

A weary grin came over Stark's face, and his head tilted to the side as he looked at me, almost as if this whole conversation amused him. "You still don't get it, do you?" He asked, clearly not expecting an answer. "You're so focused on keeping yourself in line that you don't realize how capable everyone else is."

"Sounds like an insult."

"On the contrary." He shrugged easily, taking a step forward and closing the distance between us. "I think you're more than capable of running from Konstantin, but I think you stand a better chance with us. After all--" his lips quirked up in amusement-- "towers are fortresses."

I was no fool-- I knew what he was offering. I remembered when Stark stopped the tests because he saw my lungs; I hadn't needed consolation but he felt obliged to offer it. Ultimately, he wasn't a bad person, much less someone I wished to make an enemy out of. "But they serve as prisons just as well," I finished softly, and the mirth in his eyes faded. 

Pepper leaned towards me cautiously, weighing every movement. "Gale--" she began in a low tone.

"No, _listen_ to me." I pointed directly at the elevator doors behind Stark. "Konstantin _will_ walk into this room at any moment. He's coming _now_."

Both adults were silent for a beat. Then Stark straightened his back and looked me square in the eye, and my stomach dropped with the horrible sensation that I'd just _severely_ miscalculated my odds. 

"So are my friends," he replied evenly.

My hand tightened around the handle of the bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pepper reach surreptitiously for her phone. "JARVIS?" She called out, eyes flickering between me and Stark with growing unease.

Out of reflex I glanced up at the ceiling, as did Stark. But JARVIS didn't reply; instead, the heavy, inescapable silence pressed down on us as the seconds ticked by with no answer.

"JARVIS," Stark said insistently, fingers twitching by his side, desperately seeking something material to tinker with. "Gale, what did you do?" He turned to me, voice growing dark. Now that his most beloved creation was obviously damaged, he was angry-- I could see it in his eyes, no matter how much he tried to hide it with his false nonchalance.

But a frown drew over my face. "I didn't do anything," I denied, craning my neck to look around the room. "A couple ceiling panels were torn down, nothing more. If I wanted to cut JARVIS off completely, I'd have to..."

My next heartbeat echoed deep in my chest.

_I'd have to literally cut us off._

_*Ding!*_ went the elevator doors.

Stark and Pepper whirled around at the sudden intrusion, but I didn't need to; I already knew who it was waiting for me.

Konstantin stood there, a pleasant, practiced smile on his face. "Good evening," he greeted us, taking a swift step over the edge of the elevator and walking smoothly over to where the three of us stood in stunned silence.

When a moment passed in which no one replied, an amused smile quirked up on his face. “Well,” he started, “I appear to have walked in on an argument. Tension, knife, et cetera.” Then he glanced at me, drinking in the abrupt change in my posture since we’d last seen each other at the cafe. “Hello again, Gale,” he said, not unkindly.

“I don’t care what you’re here for,” Pepper began, her tone even icier than mine on a bad day. “But you’re going to turn right back around—”

As she was speaking, Konstantin’s eyes flickered down from my face to my hands— more specifically, to the bag I clutched in a white-knuckled grip. He was unable to hide the triumphant grin that slide over his face. “I _knew_ you'd come around," he exhaled, cutting Pepper off abruptly. Then Konstantin turned half-way back to the elevator, holding out a hand to me palm-up. "Come along. It's a long flight back home-- but I'll call my staff ahead and make sure your room is ready by the time we get there."

But I shook my head a fraction, and the smile drained from Konstantin's face. "I'm leaving," I spoke clearly, giving no room for misinterpretation. "I never said I would be leaving with you."

Konstantin tried to keep the polite expression he wore so easily, but his eyes narrowed, the pale blue flashing a darker shade. "I _urge_ you to reconsider," he said in a light tone; but I knew he was never one to leave decisions up to someone else.

"She's not going anywhere," Stark jumped in. Konstantin lowered his hand as he turned to face the shorter man, and I saw his fingers twitch at his sides-- to anyone else, Konstantin was perfectly calm, but I knew every tell that betrayed the coiled tension beneath the surface. "And neither are you."

Pepper's head whipped around, mouth dropping open in protest. " _Tony_ \--"

"Nope." He rocked back on his heels, bravely staring Konstantin down from five less inches. "This ends right here, tonight. Me and my buddies, see, we're gonna take a walk with you to meet our boss. And believe me, you don't want to make the boss mad-- he gets down right _furious_." Stark allowed himself a tiny grin at that; then he glanced over my shoulder towards the other side of the room, and his smile grew tenfold. "Punctual as always."

_Shi--_

I whirled around, the bag dropping from my hand. It hit the floor with a dull _thunk_ , perfectly in sync with the sudden drop of my stomach.

Barton and Romanoff had rounded the corner and were striding across the room, footsteps matching each other with each pace, marking a brisk rhythm that made my heartbeat tick faster. Romanoff's red hair gleamed like copper under the lights, expression eerily composed. Barton, on the other hand, had nothing but pure determination and a scowl. He glared daggers at Konstantin as he neared the us, but as he grew closer to me, his eyes caught on him.

"Hey, featherweight," he said in his peculiarly endearing way. Under his guarded expression, I could see the faintest traces of concern. He and Romanoff slowed to a halt, only a few paces from Pepper and Stark. Then Barton nodded down at the bag abandoned by my feet. "Looks like we've got a lot to talk about later," he continued quietly.

It must've been my imagination-- after all, I was high on adrenaline and expecting a fight to break out at any second-- but I swear, Barton almost sounded... disappointed.

_A gravel roof, a lawn chair. Me not remembering a single thing about my life there, and Barton sitting there and asking me how to say things in my language. Me telling him that he was a friend, was someone who was always there for better or for worse._

_And now I wasn't letting him be there for me._

I felt again, deep inside me: the call back to the warmth, to the other side of the door where someone was sitting there, talking out loud so I wouldn't think I was still alone. And-- gods almighty, it _hurt_.

The silver mercury in my head-- cold and poisonous-- ebbed, and for a moment I had the wild notion that maybe I could win this fight with Konstantin, not because I was strong, but because I wasn't alone.

And then, as if he'd heard my treacherous thoughts, Konstantin's piercing gaze locked on me. The temporary warmth dissipated like fog in the sun-- I couldn't look away from Konstantin, I couldn't breathe. So I tugged the corner of a breeze back to me and leaned into the comforting chill-- _it hurt to be human_ , I knew, _so I would fight it every inch of the way._

"Seems like every time we meet, you're dressed to the nines." Romanoff's deceptively playful voice brought me back to the room. She had her hands in her pockets, leaning her weight on one foot as she talked directly to Konstantin. "You're making us simple folk look bad," she said with a slight drawl.

Konstantin smiled back at her, but the gesture was tense. "Presentation is key," he replied lightly, "and I _do_ try my best to be on top of every situation."

The lurking threat didn't go unnoticed. Pepper, who'd so far been watching quietly, opened her mouth to speak again-- no doubt ready to unleash a devastating retort in the way that only she could.

But Stark placed a hand on her arm, a silent warning in his eyes. "Not the time, Pep," he told her softly. Then he turned back to the rest of us, easily throwing up the usual confident mask. His gaze flickered between Barton and Romanoff, and when he spoke, there was no mistaking his real question. "This... uh, this is it? No red, white, and blue?"

Konstantin's head moved a fraction of an inch-- I knew without a doubt that he was running through the scenarios in his head, still keeping up the pleasant facade as he picked through every strategy he possessed.

But Romanoff shrugged, a smooth motion that made the cloth of her shirt ripple under the artificial lights. "Steve's checking in with Bruce," she said casually. Konstantin's expression eased-- he could handle humans, but a super soldier... there'd be no way he could walk out unscathed. "They're in the lab, making sure the panic room is ready if anything... _stressful_ happens."

Romanoff's words struck the tense mesh of apprehension and anger in me. For a moment, the silver in my head was replaced by a bright, burning red that drowned out even the relentless beating of my heart. _How dare she say that, how dare she do that---_ in my back of my mind I knew that Romanoff was not one to be trifled with, that her logic was always sound--- but _how dare she._

"And is the room for him or for me?" I laughed, the sound bitter on my tongue. "Don't think I've forgotten how you people treated me-- and don't you _dare_ assume I'm stupid enough to not realize what's happening right under my nose."

Romanoff's eyebrows shot up, lips slightly pursed. I could practically hear her thoughts-- _"You really wanna try that?"_ But she didn't say a word, and evidently she didn't need to, because her partner wasn't as good at keeping his mouth shut.

"Don't say that, Gale." Barton shook his head at me, as if _I_ were in the wrong. He crossed his arms, his shirt wrinkling and catching along his ribs. "Nothing we've done has been unwarranted; you've given us every reason to act the way we do. But we can sort this all out later-- everything will be fine, just let us handle this."

But before my temper grabbed ahold of me, someone unexpected jumped to my defense.

" _Excuse_ me."

Konstantin's voice cut through the air like a knife. His eyes were fixed on Barton, and as he drew in a carefully controlled breath, a surge of ice-blue flashed down his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

"You hold her in a tower," Konstantin said slowly, voice dripping venom. "You tie her to this place, to the ground. You keep her locked away from the sky and you-- you have the _audacity_ to ask why she doesn't sing your praises?"

I almost cut him off. _Almost._ But some wicked part of me realized that Konstantin was telling the truth, that he was right. I felt my stomach churn at the thought--- but I couldn't accuse him of lying without being dishonest myself; for every inch of me that would've spat back at Barton, I couldn't bring myself to stop Konstantin from doing the same.

"You treat her like some wild animal," Konstantin was saying, rising in volume with every word. He gestured to me with an open hand-- the movement somehow more defending than accusing. "And you know _nothing_ of our kind. The truth of the matter is that your little _experiment--_ " he nearly spat out the word-- "was doomed to fail from the start, because ultimately, you have no idea what you're dealing with."

Barton stiffened, hands clenched in fists at his sides. "We know enough," he replied coldly.

"But do you _understand_?" Konstantin shot back. "Truly understand? Do you know what really makes her different--- Mister Barton, do you have any idea why that little voice in the back of your mind whispers " _stranger_ " when you see her?"

Barton drew in a breath to fire a retort, but the words seemed to vanish half-way to his mouth, and he settled for a deadly glare that didn't faze Konstantin in the slightest. My old mentor cocked his head to the side, looking around the room. He was quiet for a moment, then---

"Did she ever tell you what they mean?"

Konstantin's soft voice threw me for a second. His steady blue eyes ran over me, searching for any outward sign of the resistance that was slowly boiling inside me, getting ready to blow as soon as it outweighed my self-control.

"They're her echelon," Barton said, expression deceptively neutral. But his fingers fluttered restlessly against the side of his leg, betraying the nonchalance he wore so easily. _The same tick as Konstantin._ "Her job."

Konstantin let out a sharp, piercing laugh that nearly made me flinch. "Her _job_?" He repeated incredulously, a wicked grin forming on his face. "Hyri, I know you tend to be stingy on the details, but you could at least take _pride_ in your achievements."

"You made me this!" I snapped at him, unable to bite my tongue any longer. "You made sure you controlled me- you rank above me in my circle, in my echelon-"

"If you'd been anything different I still would've taken you in!" Konstantin fired back. He took a step towards me; if I'd been thinking clearly I would've retreated, but right now, faced with his lies and his cruelty, I couldn't think of anything except for Ashi's gold pin and my parents lying on the floor.

From the side of the room, Stark spoke up. "You've got ten seconds to leave my tower," he said calmly, in the way people did when they were two shades from ripping someone apart. "I'd start moving if I were you."

But Konstantin ignored him. "Ladies and gentlemen," he called out bitterly, spreading his arms to the huge room in a grand gesture. "May I introduce you to Gale, one of the most incomprehensibly _powerful_ people on this planet!"

The color drained from my face. "Stop."

"The girl who can tear this building to dust if she so desires!"

" _Please_ , stop."

"The girl who comes from gods, who commands the breath even _they_ breathe!"

"Shut up!"

" _Do you know what they call us?_ " Konstantin hissed, the sound cutting me straight to the core. A fierce, wicked grin seized him, and my blood stung cold. Against my will, my eyes locked onto the faces of the adults who stood at the ready.

Konstantin pulled the sleeves of his jacket up, revealing a spiraling pattern of slim triangles laid in the image of feathers. They ran all the way underneath his clothes, delicate runes tracing a single name over and over again.

" _Stormcaller_."

The name rang out like bell in the giant room. It struck the walls and shot back, echoing around longer than any natural sound should've. In the corner of my eye, I saw Barton wince-- even the humans could hear that unearthly tone underlying the word.

My back burned as if someone passed a torch an inch from my bare skin. I could feel the marks on my shoulders itching to unfurl, to take that frightening name and scream it to the sky until the heavens had no choice but to listen. A shiver ran up my spine, bringing a wave of silver along with it. As the bright curls rippled over my shoulders, the aching marks on my back began to ease in the cold. For a moment, I felt relieved-- and then I noticed Konstantin's smirk, as he saw the silver loops spilling down my arms.

I didn't miss the wary look Romanoff threw my way, and I honestly couldn't blame her for it; for all an outsider knew, Konstantin and I looked exactly the same: lethal, absolute, and definitely not human.

Stark was the first to speak: "Is that supposed to mean something special to us?" He asked sardonically. Pepper's hand tightened around his arm, whether to hold him back or reassure herself, I didn't know. What I _did_ know was that this conversation would only spur Konstantin onto the next secret and the next after that.

"Don't--" I started, my voice as sharp as the lingering whisper of _"stormcaller, stormcaller"_ in the empty space

"See," Konstantin continued relentlessly, dipping his head forward as if about to disclose some fiercely guarded secret. He settled back against a stool by the bar, perfectly at ease. "There's a reason why that name always causes a commotion--" He glanced contemptuously at the other adults circling the room-- "-not that _you_ lot would understand, you've never heard it before today. But there's a price to become what she and I are..."

Then his blue eyes flickered up to mine, and with a sudden jolt I realized that he'd finally shown me the truth. _His_ truth. _Our_ truth.

"The cost of our abilities-- just being set apart from all you humans, I mean-- is our half-nature, our conflict." Konstantin pointed at his chest, where his heart would be. _If he even had one_. "The cost of our circle, of having an air legacy, is a great and terrible insight. Nothing can hide from us, nothing can conceal all its faces. Air permeates every centimeter of space; it winds and works between slivers and cracks too tiny for the naked eye to see. But the cost of our _echelon_..."

And then Konstantin's eyes flashed the color of ice, just a shade off from my silver, and there was no doubt left in my mind as to what _exactly_ our truth was.

"Stormcallers are the least human of us all. We choose to abandon our humanity for what we can achieve without it, and if we don't then we cannot call ourselves as such," Konstantin said softly, looking to me now as if I were only person in the room. "I thought you made that choice the night your parents died."

_A silver rune in my palms, freezing cold to the point where it registered as heat._

"You don't deserve to speak of them," I said coldly, but my voice trembled, and Konstantin latched onto the weakness without mercy.

"And you do?" He shot back, unable to keep a bitter smirk from pulling at his lips. "I thought your parents' demise would be enough to push you down this path. Instead, I had to guide you there myself. You didn't even know what you were capable of, Hyri, not even then. But now, now you're _truly_ one of us."

_Hyri-- short for hyriaith, meaning "windstorm"._

"Storms don't deserve nicknames. Neither do I."

"But you chose this nonetheless." Konstantin rose smoothly from his seat. A ripple of unease went through the room-- Stark pushed Pepper further behind him, Romanoff shifted her weight-- everyone knew this ended in a truce or a fight, and Konstantin wasn't the type to leave resolution to words. 

Surprisingly, Barton stepped in; considering the all but tangible tension between me and my former mentor, it was certainly no small feat for a human. "You know, Prince Charming," he started casually, "Gale's not much of a talker. She doesn't like to share things or hold hands in a circle and sing Kumbaya. But based on what I _do_ know about her past..."

The playful tone suddenly dropped from Barton's voice completely, and his eyes gleamed as sharp as Konstantin's. "Her parents passed, and then you swooped in to save the day, which seems _too_ convenient to me. Not only that, but apparently you're really good at killing people." Barton grinned darkly, the gesture deeply unsettling; and for the first time since I met him, I realized just how dangerous Barton could be. "Guess what we've got in common."

Konstantin hesitated-- it was barely visible, but I saw it: a flicker in his eyes, a quick recalculation of his odds. It was gone in less than a blink, sure, but it was _there_.

"I warned them," Konstantin said in a quiet, low voice, speaking more to me than to the room. "I told them they shouldn't live so close to the human city. They knew the risks, they knew they were sacrificing their security-- but they forgot that humans don't need legacies to draw blood."

I could see the scorn written on Barton's face from a mile away; he didn't believe Konstantin, he thought my former mentor was the cause of my fall. But I didn't have the heart-- or the breath-- to correct him.

"But this is what you want," Konstantin continued simply, eyes fixed on me, the hint of a scoff on his lips. "You want to abandon everything we've ever fought for, just like that? You _wanted_ to learn all I could teach you, you _wanted_ to change the course of history."

Anger reared its head, dark and boiling. "I never wanted to hurt the world!" I spat, the words metallic in my mouth.

But Konstantin didn't falter. "Oh, Hyri," he said softly. "Do you remember when you joined our echelon? You were so sure in your path, I never made you choose something you didn't wish for."

"You told me I would change the world." I shook my head, eyes stinging. "And I started wars for you."

"You chose wings and a sword," he sharply cut across me, the sudden severity chilling me to the bone. "How could you _possibly_ expect to be a weapon of peace?"

I couldn't bring myself to reply. Eyes locked on Konstantin, I held his gaze, but only just. _'I never wanted **this** ,' _I ached to say. Or perhaps _'I was stupid, and short-sighted, and I was wrong to fall for your silver spiderweb of promises'._ But my lungs retained a steady _in, out, in, out_ , allowing no extra breath to speak apologies with.

Instead, I spoke plainly: "I am not leaving with you."

Konstantin's head tipped forward in the barest of nods. He wasn't surprised at my answer. "So this is it," he agreed quietly. There was no trace of malice in his words, nor in my mind. All the anger, all the pain had been temporarily placed aside; now, in the wake of all we'd done and had done to us... now we were simply tired.

Tired and sad.

"This is what it comes to." I didn't need to add what he and I were thinking. For this single moment, we deserved a heartbeat of rest before what we both knew was coming arrived.

"Gale..." My name fell from Konstantin's lips, barely more than a sigh. "I hope you know that I truly cared for you. In a way, I still do. Oh, Hyri..." He gave me a soft but heavy look, weighed with regret. "We could've been _magnificent_."

Something wet pushed at the corner of my silver-stained eye. "I know," I whispered, grief twisting in my chest like a knife. "But you are not my father, and I am not your daughter."

"Not to me, Hyri." Konstantin shook his head slowly. His shoulders sagged out of his careful posture, worn and exhausted from the toll the truth exacted from him. It was the most human I'd ever seen him be. "I have no children, but I always considered you my own."

For a minute, everything was deathly quiet. The room faded in my mind and with it all its inhabitants save for one; all I felt was this heavy, aching presence in my chest, threatening to pull me through the floor. Konstantin held my gaze evenly, and all of a sudden I was too keenly aware of everything I was losing as the seconds slipped away. _I'm running out of time_ , I wanted to weep. _I'm running out._

"It's sharp," I whispered, and despite the distance between us, I saw Konstantin bow his head a fraction in reply. 

"I know," he confessed, and a hint of what I might've called regret entered his pale eyes. "Everything is, once you choose the wind over warmth."

A sudden _click_ snapped us out of our spell. My head whipped to the right to see Romanoff clutching a knife she'd pulled from God knows where. Her expression didn't waver. The message was clear: it was time for the world to start moving again.

The might've-been regret dropped from his gaze. Konstantin straightened his back, raised his chin-- and that ache inside me hardened to steel. My fingers twitched at my side, sending out a call for every breath of wind in the room to ready itself.

"You are, without a doubt, one of the most absolute powers I've ever known," Konstantin told me honestly, but his truth was bristling with razor-sharp edges, "and I... I either have you, or I don't."

I didn't wait for him to finish whatever speech he'd been building up to. He'd barely finished his sentence when I flung out a scrap of a wind, set straight towards his heart. Konstantin jerked backwards, and the wind only graze his shoulder, ripping a thin line in the jacket. His eyes narrowed, but before he could retaliate, Romanoff pounced.

The woman moved so fast I almost didn't register it-- but somehow, miraculously, she'd slashed out at Konstantin with her knife. Konstantin's hands flashed and a breeze pushed the blade away-- she moved forward and he moved back further into the main room, dodging and deflecting every blow.

"Pep!" Stark called out from beside me. Pepper tossed him her phone, and he started rapidly typing, trying to keep his eyes on Konstantin.

I started towards them but Barton's hands were suddenly on my shoulders. I tried to duck away from him but he firmly pushed me away. "Get out of here," he ordered, forcing me closer to the elevators. "Wait for us to--"

"Like _h_ \--" I snarled, but Barton gave me a brisk shove. I stood my ground but the look in his eyes nearly made me falter; he wasn't angry, he was... I would've called it concern, but there was too much steel in him for it to be that gentle. So I glared at him, pushed up the sleeves of my blazer, and let a tangled mesh of winds grow in each palm. "This is _my_ fight. If anyone's staying out of it, it's _you._ "

I darted around Barton, avoiding his attempt to grab me (and most likely toss me in the elevator like a sack of potatoes). Ignoring his outcry, I ran down the steps towards the flurry of motion that was Romanoff and Konstantin, silver threads trailing in the air.

The moment my feet hit the lower deck, Stark's voice echoed from behind: 

"Gauntlet ready, suit incoming in--"

Konstantin glanced up mid-parry with Romanoff. He frowned, and with his free hand he took the breeze he'd been deflecting Romanoff with and sent it hurtling into Stark.

Pepper let out a scream as Stark was thrown back into the bar, hitting it with such force that the glasses on top fell over and shattered on the ground. Romanoff's relentless attack faltered just for a second-- and Konstantin seized the chance. He flicked out a hand, and a razor-thin breeze cut Romanoff just above her eye before she could dodge.

"I'd rather not have any other visitors," Konstantin said lightly, continuing to retreat closer and closer to the glass window. There was a lazy grin on his face, but I caught the way his eyes twitched in my direction-- the only true threat he saw in this room was me.

But then there came a low hum from the upper deck, rising in pitch with every second. I turned my head just in time to see Pepper with a lethal glare and a repulsor gauntlet-- aimed straight at us.

I ducked a second before a bolt of white energy shot through the air and smacked into Konstantin's chest. The breath whooshed out in his lungs in one big swoop-- he bent at the waist but didn't double over. " _Humans_ ," he growled, and launched a volley of air-needles that arched over my head and rained down on the upper deck.

I heard Barton hurriedly push Pepper behind the bar, despite her protests. But my focus rested on the man who'd just hurt one of the truly _good_ people in the world--

"Get _back_ , Gale!" Romanoff shouted at me as she advanced on Konstantin, pure murder in her eyes. Blood was running down the side of her face, only a few shades darker than her hair.

"I don't think she'll listen to you," Konstantin commented, working up a ribbon of pale air. "Gale doesn't like it when other people fight her battles for her."

I clapped my hands together sharply. The silver wind in my palms burst out like a firework, slamming against the windows and walls. It knocked both Romanoff and my old mentor off their balance. "You talk too much," I fired at Konstantin, and brought my arms across me in a circling motion. Around the room, the silver wind followed suit, gaining momentum as it rolled into a spiral.

Konstantin twisted, putting his back to the glass wall. He glanced between me and Romanoff-- the latter simply waiting to strike-- with just the barest hint of unease. _Two of us are difficult_ , I knew he realized. _Still, eventually manageable--_

Then the bottom half of a shattered bottle sailed down and bonked Konstantin square in the forehead.

"Take this, _gorn-caun_!"

Barton vaulted over the couches and stuck a landing that would've made any Olympic gymnast weep. He had another whole bottle in one hand, cocked and ready to hurl it with deadly precision at a moment's notice.

_But the three of us-- well, that's impossible._

Konstantin's face tightened. He spread his arms out, the pale-blue ribbon mimicking his gestures. In the blink of an eye, the breeze separated into a thousand tiny razor blades, hovering in the air.

I knew what was happening a split second before Barton did. Konstantin's hands flung towards us-- and I grabbed Barton's shirt and dragged him down behind the coffee table with me. The wind-blades shot out in every angle, thudding into the floor, the couches, the table with a terrifying velocity. It was a never-ending stream of needles threatening to shred us like wet paper if we so much as peeked our heads out.

At some point, Barton had shifted so his arm was tucked around my back, keeping me low to the floor and as far away from the barrage as I could be. Despite the constant shifting wind, I could feel the warmth radiating from him like a miniature Sun. The heat cut worryingly clean through the silver around me, and I found the sudden urge to either sprint away from this warmth or fold closer into it.

Then Barton's previous words registered in my mind. "You learned Erui Lammen?" I shouted, raising my voice to be heard above the whistles and shrieks of Konstantin's wind-work.

Barton grinned down at me, the expression completely out of place for the current situation we were in. "Just the curse words," he fired back. Then a wind-needle struck a little too close to our cover, and the amusement vanished from his face.

My eyes fell on Romanoff, who was kneeling behind a couch. She was managing to look completely exasperated at the whole scenario, as if this were a minor inconvenience at best. Barton whistled loud enough to grab her attention; her eyes snapped to him with laser-like focus, and Barton started making a series of gestures that were half-blocked by his body. She began to nod, and I was about to poke Barton and ask him exactly what kind of plan they were making when--

"Really?" Konstantin's voice broke out above the whirling bands of wind-blades. From under the table, I could see the bottoms of his shoes as he took a small step towards us. "You know hiding won't do you any good. Come on, Hyri, I'll give you a fighting chance. Just you and me, without these irritating humans."

The barrage of breezes died down, and as Konstantin drew in his next breath, Barton suddenly leaped up from where we were huddled. I watched as Romanoff tossed him the knife in a smooth, practiced motion, and by the time Barton landed right within Konstantin's reach, he was ready to attack, forcing my old mentor to once again retreat.

_But Konstantin was right_ , I thought as Barton pressed Konstantin further and further back. _I don't let others fight my battles for me._

I scraped myself to my feet, ignoring Romanoff's order to _get back down or so help me God you'll eat potatoes for a year_. Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled at the corner of the wind-curtain still encircling the room. Hairs flew loose from their braids as the air spun and twisted around me, bending and coiling tighter and tighter.

"Enough," I said loudly, eyes burning cold. With a simple wave of my finger, I sent a scrap of the wind and tore Barton away from Konstantin. The two men turned to me-- one in shock, the other in confusion. "I'm _done_ with you, Konstantin," I growled, and unleashed the full strength of that wind in his direction.

His counter-shield gleamed blue in the air, struggling with the channel of silver that spread from my hands. Eyes narrowed, I moved towards him, the pressure increasing with every step. 

The chaotic silver-blue web howled, whipping around a fixed point between us. Both Konstantin and I were fighting as hard as we could to maintain the conflict, to tip it over to the other's side and truly _ruin_ them. 

Behind me, I heard Barton call my name-- but a wave of ice-blue surged towards me and I braced myself against it, straining with every muscle in my body to lock the wind in place. But despite my best efforts, I felt the silver begin to slip at the edges-- and my stomach dropped as Konstantin and I realized at the same time that I wouldn't be able to hold this forever.

"I-- I won't give in--" I forced out. One of Konstantin's wind-needles made it past the silver, cutting the back of my hand. It burned cold for a second; I tried to ignore it but the red refused to be cast away from mind. "I have no-- no intention of-- giving up--"

This close to Konstantin, I could see his blue eyes alight with a near-wildness that hadn't been there before. "No, it's not that," he hissed. "What you don't have is _control_." He leaned forward, beating me back a step.

"No," I shot back through gritted teeth. It took every I had not to buckle under the relentless pressure building in the air between us. "I suppose I don't." 

_I lost it with Ullr._

But then Konstantin grinned-- a quick, keen thing-- and before I could twitch a finger, his palm shifted upwards. A blinding streak of ice-blue shot towards me, searing my throat as it shrieked down to my lungs.

With a wretched, choking cry, I broke away. Hands flying up to my mouth, I felt Konstantin's breeze burrow deeper into my chest. It careened through my lungs, scraping and slicing away, adding more scars to the collection. I doubled over, only able to wheeze in pain. I barely even noticed Barton appear between me and Konstantin in a blur of purple-- if I'd had the breath to thank him, I would've.

 _Cold, cold, freezing cold--_ this wasn't supposed to hurt me, this was _my_ legacy-- but even as the breeze lost its force and the biting pain subsided, I couldn't help but think that I was way over my head. "Gah, _pukta_ ," I croaked feebly, mustering the strength to throw myself back into the fight.

I barely had enough time to stand up straight before Konstantin's hand twitched my way once more.

A flash of blue spilled into the corner of my vision. I saw the gleaming edge, ready to dig into my body-- and in a brilliant moment of sheer reflex and stupidity, I yanked myself back with no regards as to what lay behind me. My own wind current snagged on my shoulders and seized me, jerking me straight into its path---

I flew backwards and crashed into the wall. All the breath in my lungs vanished as I dropped to the ground like a sack of wet laundry.

It felt like I'd belly-flopped into a pool from the Olympic-height diving board-- _everything_ hurt, especially my head, and nothing was moving as fast as it was supposed to. I don't know how long I laid there; all I could comprehend of the world was a vague blur of color and motion. The cold edge of the floor tiles pressed against my cheek; it was uncomfortable, but I couldn't find the sense to put two and two together and get to my feet.

I watched through half-open eyes as a flash of red wove through the room, dodging a brilliant arc of ice-blue. _Romanoff_ , I realized. _I should get up_. But the incessant drumming of my heart drove out any thought of moving.

_This is it_ , the old, ever present thought slurred in the back of my mind. _This is where it ends---_

And then it hit me, harder than the wall I'd just put a Gale-sized dent in:

_This is always where it was meant to end._

I thought I believed in choice. I thought that there was no great scheme, no cosmic plan or plot, no inevitable destiny. But lying here on the cold floor, the sounds of some muffled struggle ringing in my ears, I couldn't ignore the simple logic of it all.

Konstantin started the cycle. Because of him, I learned how to run. After _him_ , I ran to New York, and Barton followed, and then the Tower came soon after that. Then Asgard and Sindri's talk of dual natures, and Ullr's bloodstained sword which taught me _ruthlessness_ better than Konstantin ever could. Then I forgot, and thought myself more human, and of course remembering everything tore that happiness away twice as painfully, which brought the wind and _Konstantin_ back and--

Running, a half-soul, and the wind. It all tied together so neatly, it couldn't be anything _but_ fate. Konstantin began it, and I'd be the end.

_The wheel is come full circle._

_King Lear, act five, scene three._

If my lungs didn't ache so much, I'd laugh. Instead, a strained wheeze escaped me, barely audible to my ringing ears but nevertheless sending a hum up and down my chest. I tried to push myself up from the floor, but a bolt of pain lanced through my back and my body hit the ground a second time.

Across the room, I watched as Konstantin's hand flashed icy blue and Barton fell to the ground with a muffled cry. Without skipping a beat, Romanoff leaped forwards, taking her partner's place in front of Konstantin. Metal and wind gleamed under the light, each figure whirling about as quick as the other in a fearsome, lethal dance.

My eyes slid sluggishly to Pepper, still trying in vain to pull Stark out of the room; he hadn't moved since Konstantin tossed him into the bar like a toy.

_I have to move_ , a thought mumbled, running slower than honey. Twenty feet away, Barton pulled himself to his feet, swaying from side to side; I knew he wouldn't last another ten seconds against Konstantin.

A faint ribbon of silver skittered across my knuckles. _On three_ , I told myself, screwing my eyes shut and gathering every scrap of self-control I possessed. _One, two--_ I pushed myself upright, ignoring the sharp pain in my back. The moment I was upright, all the blood in my body drained to my feet, leaving behind me light-headed and woozy.

_I need more_ , I realized somewhat belatedly. _More wind, I need **more**_ **.**

But I'd already chosen it, already set the scales for its weight. Still, half of me cried _more, **more**_ , and the other part screamed _balance_.

Across the room, Romanoff tumbled to the ground. Barton immediately sprung forward to protect his partner, but Konstantin whirled around, hands trailing ice-blue, and the archer was forced to brace himself against a swarm of razor-thin breezes that cut and tore at his arms.

My heartbeat pounded deep inside my skull, echoing in the foggy space. I tilted my head back, bared my throat, and sucked in a deep breath. I knew what I had to do-- more importantly, I knew the consequences. But if I had any intention of leaving this Tower tonight, I had to act, and act soon.

"Ashi would kill me for this," I mumbled, the name striking my heart more painfully than any breeze of Konstantin's could. With that grief-echo thrumming in my chest, I threw every ounce of my self control to the wind.

Balance flew out the window as the scales in my mind crashed down on one side of my soul--

And it wasn't the human part.

My blood surged freezing cold, and a shuddering gasp overtook me. The hairs on the back of my forearms stood on end as I watched pure silver rush through my veins, shining cold and pale through my skin as it traced its way all the way down to my fingertips.

_Throw yourself to one half_ , Ashi's voice came to me, murmuring in the back of my mind. _And you'll taste an absolute. But if you come back down, you crash._

My spine shot up straight, pulled by an invisible puppeteer. Sights and sounds all came rushing back to me in frightening clarity; I heard Barton's labored breaths, I smelled sweat and blood and dust on the air, I saw every crack and splinter on the floor. The aches and the pain began to retreat, replaced by a growing satisfaction that rushed giddily through my head. I'd never _purposefully_ made myself wind-drunk... but the wild glee and wickedness was there, just like with Ullr.

_To be wind-drunk is to taste an absolute._

And Lord knew absolution came easiest to me.

I grinned, sudden and fierce with with newfound power. I could feel the wind outside, in the open air; I could taste the sea-salt and the smoke, and the acrid tang of the neon lights. They were hooks under my skin, tethering me to the most primal part of nature.

_Finally_ , my bones sighed. _Finally, we can **be**._

Oddly enough, no one had noticed my second wind-- pun intended. I glanced around the room, from Konstantin dodging blows as if they were naught but leaves in the autumn wind, to Romanoff with a deadly shine in her eyes as she spun around the other man with sharp metal flashing in her hands. And Barton-- _part of me grew tense when I saw him--_ who was on his feet but with trembling hands clamped over his side, a dark stain growing larger every second.

No one even spared a glance-- _f_ _ine. So I'd get their attention._ Shutting my eyes briefly, I cast out my mind and settled on the intangible ties that connected me to the stormy skies.

_'Stormcaller_ ,' I heard them laugh in glee as they twisted and turned under my touch. _'Stormcaller.'_

A brilliant streak of light lit up the world for a half-second, leaving a silver echo plastered to the dark sky behind as it flickered out. Konstantin and Romanoff fell apart, both momentarily stunned by the flash. Every pair of eyes in the room snapped towards the window, breaths held in fearful awe.

"It's fitting." Konstantin broke the tense silence, voice triumphant. His hands were raised, the black marks across his skin tinged ice blue at the edges. A smirk tugged at his lips. "You know, lightning means a loss of ignorance-- a finality, a sudden realization, if you will. Rather appropriate for this setting, wouldn't you agree?"

By the couches, Barton's face was deathly pale. His hands were pressed against the wound in his side, but a steady flow of red dripped down his shirt. He opened his mouth to respond but swayed dangerously to the side-- that cut must've been deep; after all, it did come from Konstantin, and he never dealt in halves.

"It's not lightning," I spoke, my voice cutting through the air like a knife; the focus of the room shot to me, but I didn't falter.

Just then, an inevitable peal of thunder broke open just outside the Tower, strong enough to make the glass shiver. The sky herself was laughing-- it knew the words on my lips.

"It's wind."

At my words, Konstantin's face slackened. His mouth dropped open in a breathless _"Hyri"_ but it was already too late--

I raised a hand to the sky and called the storm down.

Every pane of glass in the Tower's beautiful main room exploded. Serrated fragments flew through the air, splitting the light into a dizzying rainbow. Romanoff threw herself behind an overturned couch; Barton kneeled behind the remnants of the table. Pepper and Stark were considerably safer by the bar, but she shielded his body with hers nonetheless.

But they didn't need to worry. The glass wasn't meant for them.

The wind whipped around me, barely under control. It pulled the shards of glass inwards, tightening into a glittering whirlpool-- with Konstantin at the center. His hands spun every which way, deflecting the razor-sharp fragments as quick as he could. Strands of pale blond hair tumbled out of place, as frenzied as the look in his eyes.

"Gale!" He shouted above the whistling glass and howling wind, flicking away a splinter of glass a moment before it lodged in his throat. "Stop this madness!"

The laugh that bubbled from my lungs would've been dark if not for the blinding silver it left on my lips. I watched as Konstantin struggled against the hurricane of glass. He was starting to fall behind-- a flash of light and a trail of blood marked where a shard flew too quickly for him to swat away.

"Stop?" I repeated, amused. Lifting a hand, I felt the pull of gravity fade, and my feet gently rose from the floor. Stepping slowly, deliberately, towards Konstantin, I tightened the spinning wall of wind around him. He stumbled backwards, crying out as his back grazed the shards of glass surrounding his body. Shreds of fabric whipped around the noose of wind, snapping too and fro.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Barton begin to rise from where he was huddled. A frown tugged at my face, and with a careless wave I sent a wind shooting over his head, just enough to keep him out of the way. After all, this was _my_ fight.

Konstantin's piercing blue eyes locked on mine, blown wide in panic. "Gale!" He called out, blood dripping from a shallow cut along his cheekbone. "Is this what you really want? To destroy all that I've given you?"

With every step I took towards him, a ring of silver rippled out from under my foot like a wave in a pond. In a different time, this much silver staining the air would've unsettled me; but the old, familiar voice in my mind whispered _'stormcaller, stormcaller'_ and I knew I had nothing to fear.

"Act four," I spoke clearly, leaving no error in my words. Konstantin's eyebrows knit together in confusion, the relentless flurry of ice-blue breezes slowing around his hands. "Scene one, line seventy-nine."

I stopped walking, ten feet from Konstantin and three up in the air. We were eye to eye, and as I stared him down, the cruel need for satisfaction gnashed it teeth, screaming to be let out.

The glass hurricane slowed, and Konstantin faltered in kind. "I don't..." He spoke hesitantly, but like mine, his voice carried quicker through air than light itself.

"Macbeth," I interrupted. "Remember? It was the first of Shakespeare's plays you read with me."

Understanding dawned on Konstantin's face a moment before the unspoken words clicked, and the blood drained from his skin, leaving it paler than mine. My head tilted to the left, the way it always did when I found something irresistibly fascinating. I raised an open hand, facing up towards the sky; Konstantin's eyes followed the gesture with unrestrained fear.

"Be bloody, bold, and resolute," I finished, the words ringing clear as a bell. And I closed my fist.

The glass dropped from the air as the full force of the wind crashed into the center-- into Konstantin. He cried out as he fell to his knees, the silver barrage keeping him square in place. For a deafening moment, there was nothing but the vicious battery of wind, pummeling the man from all directions-- and I did nothing to ease it.

When the wind died, Konstantin was left on his knees, ragged breaths seizing him, sending shudders through his body. Blood stained his jacket, his pants, his shirt; pain was written on every inch of Konstantin, and when his eyes fell on my unwavering silver ones, we both knew this was the end.

Konstantin opened his mouth to speak, but only a groan escaped him. He swayed backwards, and before he could fall, I swiftly touched back down, kneeling in front of my old mentor.

I stretched an arm around his shoulders, holding him upright. Only a scarce few inches separated us; in his eyes I could see my reflection: hair whipped back, curling out of the neat braids; a purple bruise forming by my hairline; a trace of blood staining my cheek; and the inhuman silver sheen plastered to my skin.

I was just like him.

The anger had subsided for now-- here, kneeling next to Konstantin, all I could think of was the way he looked when I achieved something truly spectacular, of how new copies of my favorite works of Shakespeare would appear in the library, of the view from my window that let me see miles out into the countryside.

I wanted to say something. I just didn't know what.

Konstantin's head tilted alarmingly to the side. Without thinking, my hand slipping behind his neck, keeping it steady. His mouth hung open, my name silently forming on his lips. 

_Say something_ , the old part of me urged. _You have only a moment. Say something._

So I searched for the right words-- for something to convey what he meant to me, the life he gave me, the hatred I'd felt for him-- all in one phrase. But instead of a curse or a promise, I found the most unexpected of things.

"I've seen it," I finally whispered. Konstantin's eyes were wide with terror-- no illusion, no deception this time. "Asgard. I've walked in its golden halls."

_Thud-thud, thud-thud,_ went our heartbeats, almost perfectly in sync.

A painful whimper escaped Konstantin's mouth with a dribble of blood. He stared at me, eyebrows drawn together-- hurt, confused, seemingly unable to comprehend what was happening. Our heads were so close together that a curl of my hair slipped down from its braid and tapped Konstantin's pale cheek, light as a feather.

_Thud-thud, thud-thud._

"I've witnessed where we came from," I continued, voice barely audible. In my free hand, a sliver of a north wind murmured quietly in wait. "I've walked on the land we've devoted our lives to."

Konstantin's body tilted backwards, and I carefully laid him on the ground, one hand still pressed against his chest. His eyes were blue, so blue it nearly hurt. They were rooted to my face, and I watched him struggle now to keep them open. The fight had gone from his body; all resistance had vanished. Now he hung on my every word as his life spun away from his grasp.

"It's _beautiful_ ," I exhaled, and a strange, wistful look came over Konstantin's face. His eyes became unfocused, fixed on something only his mind could see. Then I slowly leaned down, and slid the sharp north wind straight into his heart.

_Thud-thud, thud-thud._

I bent forward to whisper in his ear. "And you'll never see it."

A splotch of deep, dark, human red soaked through his shirt, right over where my north wind had cut him to the core. His chest seized for a moment, his fingers snagged on my wrist- and the piercing blue eyes that had watched my every move for years finally went still. Konstantin's skin ebbed cold, and in the span of a heartbeat, he gave his last.

_Thud, thud._

Translations:

pukta: (You don't wanna know. It's a curse word. So, perfect for using with anyone who hasn't read the story :) )


	48. Vaiwë

"Gale?"

_Nothing changed._

"Is he...?"

I blinked, and the scene before me came rushing back into focus: Konstantin lying right before me, motionless; Pepper and Stark crouched by the wall, her hands tinged red and his lungs wheezing; Romanoff with two dozen bloody cuts littering her arms and a steady grip on her knife; and Barton, expression guarded as he gingerly stepped towards me.

Slowly, carefully, I reached out and pressed the back of my hand to Konstantin's skin. I knew that he'd been cold long before his heart stopped, but compared to me, he felt almost warm. _I must be freezing_.

"He's dead." My voice rang out as clear as a bell in the otherwise silent room. By the wall, Pepper flinched. 

Barton started speaking--- but the words fell flat before they reached my ears. Instead, I simply remained where I was, kneeling besides the last person on this Earth who connected me to home. _Finally_ , I thought to myself, my eyes slipping shut. _It's over, it's finally over. I can rest now._

_So why was my skin still silver?_

A shiver trickled up my spine, and I realized this night was far from over. Opening my eyes, I glanced down at my hands. Konstantin's blood was dripping away, replaced by bright curls that ebbed over my fingertips, running down the lines in my palm. As I sat and stared, the all-to-familiar sign stitched itself into place in the center of my hand. 

_Hagalaz._

Something cold rushed through me, and it wasn't from the shock.

Sitting here, staring down at my palm, I don't know what I expected to find. With every blink, I waited for my eyes to open and bring with them a newfound clarity-- I waited to see a new world instead the one I'd just laid to rest. But Barton kept talking on and on in the background, and as the words grew into phrases and stretched on from wall to wall... that clarity never came.

"Nothing's changed," I repeated hollowly, and suddenly the floor dropped in fog under my feet. In the back of my mind, I realized Barton had stopped speaking, but it wasn't like I cared in the first place.

A moment of silence, broken by a cautious "Gale?" from Pepper.

"I can't change anything... I thought I could, but nothing's... I don't feel different." Against my will, my eyes flickered up to meet Barton's worried gaze. "Why don't I feel different?"

Barton paused, every passing second only spurring the dread boiling up in my gut. "Sometimes..." he started, picking his words with the utmost care. "Sometimes it doesn't change right away-- but I'll help you, okay?" He added, inching closer to me. The violent winds had died down to nothing, though I couldn't recall exactly when, and now the only thing keeping Barton from reaching me was the broken body on the floor.

**_No. This is wrong-_**

I all but shot to my feet. Immediately, Barton took a step forward-- his posture stiffened, a mirror image of how he'd reacted to Konstantin. Of how he reacted to a _threat_.

It was the last nail in the coffin.

"You think I'm like _him_ ," I spat, unable to ignore the searing cold pulsing up and down my spine. "You think I'm as cruel as he was."

Barton didn't move to reply, and that was all I needed to seal my doubts. I scoffed, giving into the cold just a little. _Of course they thought that, of course he and I were the same in their eyes._

"Gale..." He began, a hand still tucked firmly to his side. "He's gone. We can help you now-- _I_ can help you, okay? I won't let this happen again, I promise."

"I've trusted your _promises_ before." I glared at him, knowing full well my eyes were spinning silver. "Look where that got me."

"No, I swear. There'll never be another Konstantin--"

A bright, vicious streak of anger reared up in my chest, and for a moment I fell straight back into my old patterns, into arguments and bitter words and the cruel satisfaction that came with digging my claws a little deeper than necessary _._ "There is _always_ another Konstantin!" I narrowed my eyes, feeling the wind pick up around my clenched fists. "There is always another person who'll use me, who'll hurt me-- like _him_ , like _you._ "

Barton, surprisingly, didn't raise his voice in retaliation. "Remember the last time this happened?" He reminded me, looking at me expectantly, as if I were simply a child throwing a tantrum. "With Ullr--"

"Like you _care_ \--"

"You won," Barton continued, but there was a new sense of urgency in his tone. "And nearly killed yourself in the process. Gale, can't you see that this is the exact same thing?" He gestured to the room, to the broken glass and gouges in the furniture and floor. "C'mon, kiddo, just..."

"Just what?" I snapped when he trailed off.

Barton's eyes flickered down to my hands, coated in broad strokes of silver and red. "Whatever's made you lose all... all emotion, we can help fix it."

His words hit me like a freight train-- but unlike Konstantin's, they didn't knock me off my feet. Instead they stirred something in me, something just waiting for an excuse to come out. " _Fix_ it." I repeated, voice dangerously low. A tiny shiver trickled down my neck-- the slight breeze circling me stiffened, and I knew in an instant that everyone else could feel it too.

"Gale?" Pepper spoke up softly, standing up from where she'd been crouching next to Stark; the man himself still crumpled by the wall, but I could feel the steady breaths ripple through the air to where I stood-- he'd slipped into unconsciousness: asleep, nothing more, nothing less. 

"Then you must think I'm broken," I continued, voice deathly cold. "If there's something to fix, there must be something wrong-- isn't that your logic?"

I glanced down at my hands, still coated in silver and red. The narrow hagalaz stitched to my palms gleamed like polished metal under the artificial lights. Slowly, I closed my fingers into a fist. A aura of shining silver flickered into existence, and I felt the air quicken around me as a steady hum grew in the room. The other humans glanced around, expressions ranging from confused to fearful.

"I am _not_ broken," I hissed, clenching my fist hard enough to turn my knuckles white through the silver wind marks. Despite the anger, a note of grief crept into my voice-- regret that I was utterly different from Barton, mourning that he simply could never understand that. "You're _only_ human. What do you know of my kind?"

_Stormcaller,_ murmured the wind circling the top of the room. It glittered into visibility, catching the light like mica in a riverbed. _Stormcaller._

"Gale, listen to me," Pepper said, raising her chin. She held my gaze evenly; if I could feel anything through this inexplicable anger, it'd be respect-- but she was _human_ , and every human in this room was looking at me like I could explode at any second. "I understand you're upset, but turning on us won't solve anything. If you take a step back, we can all deal with this in the best manner."

"Deal with _me,_ you mean," I spat. The wind around my hands shuddered; a sharp edge pulsed by my fingertips, and before I could blink Romanoff's knife was in a ready position. 

The room held its breath as my head turned, excruciatingly slow, and I locked eyes with the woman. She held her ground-- but my vision pulsed silver, and for one single heartbeat, she hesitated. That was all I needed to know.

"Gale--" Barton picked up, pulling himself up to his entire height. I nearly snorted when I saw the guarded look in his eyes. _Oh, please._ He thought that'd intimidate me? _I've ripped down gods twice his size_ , the old, angry thoughts whispered. _He stands no chance._ "Pepper's right. Take a step back before..."

"Before what?" I cut in. Holding my arms out to the sides, I finally let the wind marks surge up and down my skin in full ferocity, a shifting silver kaleidoscope that rivaled the displays of even the most lethal creatures on Earth. A wicked grin came over my face as I watched the humans shiver. "Before _this_?"

Without hesitating, I swung my hands together in front of me, trails of silver echoing my finger tips. 

_Stormcaller, stormcaller_ , howled the wind as it converged on a single point, three feet from my chest. The pressure grew and grew, seconds stretching out longer as my hands crashed together. _This will show them_ , I thought with a fierce satisfaction. _They'll realize they never should've locked me up in the first place._

But right as my fingertips touched, right as the silver shone so bright it nearly blinded me, Pepper sprung forward. Her red hair snapped back in the wind, the strange color catching my eye only for a moment-- but a moment was all it took. Pepper's mouth fell open, shouting a single word:

"KOZEL!"

All of a sudden I couldn't breathe.

The word pierced my chest, burrowing deeper and deeper into my flesh. My insides twisted fiercely-- once, twice-- and then every scrap of air snapped away from my skin in one fell swoop. The silver marks vanished, and my warm, human heartbeat slammed violently back into my body.

I stumbled backwards a step. Without the wind holding me up, I nearly keeled over. Bile rose in my throat-- it was bitter, bitter and hot and overwhelmingly _human_.

_If you fall back,_ Ashi had told me, _you crash. You cannot choose an absolute without the other close behind._

Pepper said something more, but I couldn't make it out. My ears were ringing; there was no wind, no air, no silver to balance me. Now the world was dry and scalding and _pulling me to the ground--_

_"Mama?"_

Even though I was doubled over, both arms pressing tight against my gut, I recognized the voice-- the memory. "No," I shook my head, but only succeeded in sending another wave of nausea through my body. "No, not now, not here--"

Too late.

_"Mama?" I called again, one hand resting on the wooden rail. I was standing at the top of the main staircase, looking down at the ground floor. It was dark and quiet; the only light possible was from the moon, which glittered through the windowpanes in tiny squares._

_Rubbing my eyes sleepily, I took the first step down the stairs. The cuffs of my pajama pants were an inch too long, and they caught under my heel as I walked._

_"I heard you get up," I continued, stepping onto the tiled floor and turning towards one of the hallways. "Are we having another hot chocolate party?"_

"Are... alright..." Barton's voice drifted in and out of my ears. A hazy silhouette entered my vision and I held up a weak, trembling hand to ward it off-- but the wind was gone from my body, and all I could do was stand there, hunched over myself like an old crone.

_"I think we have marshmallows in the kitchen," I called out to the dark house, my eight year-old voice ringing through the empty hall. At the far end, past the entrance to the servant's kitchen, I could see the door to Papa's office cracked open-- what was Mama doing in there?_

_There was no reply._

_"I'll get it started," I mumbled, the heavy sleep still clinging to me like a blanket. I turned into the kitchen, flicking the lights on._

_Without thinking about it too hard, I cast a gentle breeze that swung the cabinet doors opened, and I popped up on my tip-toes to grab a pair of mugs from the top shelf. As I combed through the pantry for marshmallows-- I knew they were in here somewhere, Uncle Alexei had just brought some last time he visited-- there came a faint creak from the hallway._

"...kiddo... take a deep breath... what's wrong..."

But my head wasn't in the Tower; it was reeling back, back to an old house and a cold night and floorboards that creaked in the dark--

_Maybe I wouldn't have heard that creak normally. But my legacy was growing stronger every day, and even the most imperceptible sounds couldn't hide from me._

_"Mama?" I perked up, setting the bag of tiny marshmallows on the counter. Trotting out of the kitchen, I looked down the hall. "I found the--"_

_A man stood there, frozen. He was dressed all in black, with some sort of mask covering most of his face. There was a backpack in his hands; it wasn't zipped all the way-- I could see the edge of one of Papa's old books, the kind bound in leather and glittering gold._

_For a moment, I stared at the stranger. His eyes locked on mine, and he slowly took a step back._

_I should've been scared, but in that second, I was just confused. "You're not supposed to be here," I said matter-of-factly. Then the man flinched, and his hand drifted towards his pocket-- I could see the hint of something metal peeking out, and only then did the fear set in._

_"Mama?" I called out loudly, panic creeping into my voice. The man's head whipped around, and when he turned back to me, I saw his eyes narrow._

_"Don't make another sound," he growled, somewhat muffled by the mask._

_My blood ran cold. A breeze skittered across my knuckles, reacting to my fear. "MAMA!" I shouted, stumbling back from the man. Heart hammering in my chest, I instinctively curled my fingers around the breeze. Far above me, I heard a dull thud, as if someone'd just rolled out of bed._

_The intruder heard it too, because his mouth opened in a snarl and he lunged forward, dead-set on seizing me--_

_I let the wind out._

My mind snapped back into the Tower, focusing on on the closest thing to me: Barton, who was standing only an arm's reach away from me, blue eyes wide with concern. Instantly, I threw myself backwards, a familiar human panic creeping into my heart.

"Stay away from me," I whispered, stumbling back from the group of adults. Keeping them all in sight, I moved until the only thing behind me was the shattered window. _Can't have them at my back_ , my mind slurred. Broken glass crunched under my shoes as I swayed unsteadily. _Can't risk it._

"Gale, _please_." Barton had followed me, hands held palms-up in a peaceful gesture. He edged another step forward; my vision tunneled until the only part of this room I saw was him. "Take a breath, kiddo, just slow down and we can sort through all of this."

_Papa reaching out, concern and fear written on his face. "It's okay, Gale, we're okay. Just calm down and we can fix this."_

But the breath I drew into my lungs cracked and snagged in my throat, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. "I can't," I whimpered, "I can't, I..." My eyes locked on Barton, and suddenly he _needed_ to understand, he _had_ to hear all the words biting at my heart. "I was just so scared," I whispered, and Barton paused.

"Gale?" He said, so incredibly soft I thought my name would drift off in the air like dandelion fluff.

"I was so scared... I couldn't... I couldn't reign it in fast enough..."

_The intruder lay motionless on the floor, and for the first time I realized the moonlight was coming in through the wrong window for that dark patch around him to be only a shadow. Something heavy twisted in my gut-- the intruder was dead but the terror was still here, still running through my veins, overshadowing all reason._

_My parents stood across from me, still clad in their pajamas, staring at the body with undisguised horror. It took them a moment to realize what exactly had happened; but then they looked up at me with that same fear._

_"Don't look, Gale," Mama jumped in, pulling at my shoulder to turn me away from the body. "Don't look, baby--"_

_"Let go of me!" A shriek tore itself from my throat, and Mama flew backwards into the wall. A curl of fire flickered across her knuckles-- pure reflex, nothing more-- but it sent my panic into overdrive._

_The windows rattled in their frames as Papa raced to his wife's side. Staring at my mother crumpled on the floor, I couldn't do anything but cry. "I'm sorry," I hiccuped, taking a step back. Outside the wind was howling, rapidly nearing a crescendo._

_A white-hot burst of pain flashed against my palms. My sobs grew louder, in perfect harmony with the storm, and I watched helplessly as glittering silver threads stitched themselves into my skin. They traced the lines criss-crossing my hands, winding into a narrow, slanted 'H'._

_**Hagalaz.**_

_Then Papa let out a cry, and I looked up._

_The air around me was stained a dark, ashy grey that clung to the floor, seeping out like fog. It rolled over the intruder's body, frozen in their last moments of terror, and rippled towards my parents. And Papa-- his eyes were blown wide in fear, something I'd almost never seen._

_With a sickening jolt, I realized his fear was directed at me._

_"I didn't mean to do it," I whispered, but the words shot out of my mouth in a lightning-flash of silver. It whistled through the air and lodged itself in his side, just below his ribs. Papa was knocked back into the wall, a frightening reflection of my mother, who was trying to push herself back up on her feet but failing._

_The wind howled higher and higher, shrieking like the banshees in the story my parents had read to me not three nights ago. It cut me to the core-- if I didn't know better I would've said the wind carried knives wherever it blew._

_Mama's hands pushed back at the wall, supporting her weight as she finally stood. Her fingers sparked and suddenly I could smell burning wood in the air, thick as the heavy grey wind surrounding me. "Gale..." she started, voice cracking. She lifted her chin but I saw the fright in her eyes. "Baby, please, listen to us--"_

_"I'm trying--"_

_But the moment I spoke, the iron-colored fog shot straight up from the ground in spikes, the tips gleaming wickedly in the moonlight. I immediately froze-- I couldn't move a step in any direction, not with these ghostly spears encircling me. They hovered there, silently keeping me in place; whether to contain or protect me, I didn't know. But I knew I was doing this, I had to be-- I was the only one here who could._

_When I didn't speak again, Papa inched forward, one hand outstretched-- and the sharpened winds swirled to face him. He flinched, taking a quick step backwards, and before I could blink the winds shot forward._

_They slammed mercilessly into his body. My father hit the ground hard; his head flew back and cracked against the floor. A brilliant splash of marble bloomed under his skull, the same shade creeping through his pale eyes._

_He did not move again._

_There came a piercing, deathly wail from my mother's lungs-- my bones quivered, freezing me in place for one petrified moment. 'This was the banshee' I thought numbly, 'this is the sound of the dead weeping for the living'._

_All reason left my mind. I saw my mother lurch to her husband's body, all but collapsing on the floor next to him. Her hands pressed at the bloody cuts littering his skin, but there were too many to cover and nothing even there to save anymore._

_My mother was in pain, and I, like any child, wanted to help._

_I raised a hand, forgetting the cold air that coated my body from head to toe. "Mama," I called out. As she turned her head to reply, I watched as her green eyes flew open wide, fixed on something directly over my shoulder. Her mouth opened, a warning cry on her lips--_

_A bolt of freezing wind shrieked wickedly as it shot past my ear, tracing the path of my outstretched fingers, and struck my mother squarely in the heart._

_Then I was the one screaming-- not my father, not my mother, not the wind. My skin was stained silver, my palms glittering coldly in the moonlight. Without giving a second thought to it, I ran to my mother, just in time to catch the faintest whisper from her lips as she tumbled gracelessly back:_

_" **Kozel** ," she'd breathed, green eyes turned glassy before the word finished, the last plea she would ever utter._

_And then the house was finally silent._

_But Konstantin was nowhere near the house that night; he had no hand in what came to pass. Sometimes, a coincidence is merely that... but still, despite what I'd done--_

"I didn't mean to do it," I echoed. Something cold ran down the side of my cheek, trickling under my jaw. The freezing air blowing in from the shattered windows made the cold burn even brighter. Without thinking, I took another step backwards, leaning into the numbing cold. _I choose the wind, but it's not enough anymore. I need **more.**_

" _Gale_ ," Barton said urgently, wide eyes flickered between my face and the open air behind me. "Gale, kid, please--"

But I felt it again, that invisible tie to the open heavens-- and this time around, the cold air was calling me.

"Nothing's changed," I repeated, my eyes slipping shut for a moment. A fresh wave of tears spilled out, marking me just as heavily as the silver did. "He's gone... but I'm still here..."

The realization struck me as fiercely as the ever-present " _stormcaller, stormcaller_ " howling at my heels: I didn't want to be here.

I felt the pressure grow on the backs of my feet, felt my hair swing backwards just a tad. And then the night sky dug its hooks into my silver-less skin, and I didn't fight it anymore. My eyes fluttered open just as I leaned back ever so slightly--

_"GALE!"_

Barton lunged forward, hands outstretched towards me. Mouth open in mid-cry, pure panic splashed across his face-- that's the last part of him I saw before my weight shifted across the breaking point, and I tipped backwards into the empty, waiting space.

The moment my body crossed the boundary of the shattered windows, gravity dug into me with its claws and yanked me downwards. The wind howled in my ears, deafening me to the world. But despite the noise and the cold and the fear I should've felt, I didn't move a muscle. I let myself be dragged down, down where I knew the earth and concrete were waiting. Afterall, why should I be afraid in the first place? It's not like the empty air was unfamiliar to me.

_Maybe I'll fall_ , I thought, my hair blotting out the stars as it billowed out in the wind. Far above me, growing smaller every second, the top floor of the tower glowed. The yellow blurred out of the glass into the night, and my cheeks were wet and there was this awful ache in my chest. That's why I was falling, it had to be; this heavy, damning ache was pulling me to the ground.

Then a banner of dark hair passed in front of the faint light, and the cold air stung a little less.

_Is this_ _falling?_

In my own ears, I sounded eight years old with that shell-shocked quiet in my voice; it belonged to a child who simply couldn't comprehend what was happening, who didn't understand why she was the only living thing in sight all of a sudden.

As I plummeted to the ground, hair flying, clothes snapping against my body, I couldn't bring myself to be scared. An odd, vague emotion tingled in my chest. I'd never fallen before; it was an entirely new sensation. Part of me wondered what it'd feel like to hit the ground.

_It's time we found out_ , came the child's voice again, the doubt replaced by innocent curiosity. _Haven't we always wanted to know?_

The stars above were bright and cold, and as the skyscrapers loomed higher and higher into the sky, they cut out the faint pinpricks of light. This was it, I realized. This was how it was supposed to be. With my skin pale, no trace of silver, and a child's voice. With no desire to run or change my fate. Just a human, falling.

Below me someone screamed. I must've been closer than I thought; this heavy, human ache must be dragging me down quicker.

**_But you are not._**

My cheeks stung cold for a split second, and then they were dry. The tingling curiosity spread from my chest to my fingers. It flowed through my blood, into my bones.

The stars were back. For a moment I thought they'd managed to shine through the buildings-- but my hair was pulling back from my face, no longer whipping violently in the air.

**_Humans fall_** , the new voice whispered, cutting through the skyscrapers and the stars. **_And you are not._**

 _Falling or human?_ a single thought of mine replied.

Then a ribbon of silver flickered over my body, and I nearly cried again. The weight in my chest eased-- the air still moved but my descent was slowing.

**_Both_** , murmured the wind, and my eyes fluttered closed. **_You are strong, and sharp, and keep the truest north in this world. Your veins bleed red and gold, your skin is painted silver, your hair and eyes are spun from ink. You may look human, but my dear, this world cannot comprehend you._**

Eyes shut, heart thrumming, limbs gone limp in the air, I waited.

**_So you are neither_** , the wind continued, wrapping around me like silk. My bare skin gleamed silver, the solitary refuge in the air polluted by neon lights. **_Hagalaz means change, the kind that brings an empire to its knees, that pulls the sun from the sky. Change itself is not evil. That's all this is._**

The cold air held its breath as I neared the ground, still heading down but not falling anymore-- _no, gravity can only touch me when I say it can._

_**It's only a change.**_

**_~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ **

The morning after Gale disappeared dawned colder than it should've for August. But despite the heavy curtain of iron-grey clouds, the air was deathly still. Even the people who weren't that superstitious looked up at the sky and felt a shiver run down their back; everything was too quiet, too motionless. What they needed was a brisk wind-- but there wasn't a single breeze to run through the tree branches, not across the entire city.

Regardless, it wasn't like Clint could feel the unnatural silence. Not here, not through all these metal walls and doors, and certainly not with his boss speaking to him like he was a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"You know, I'm not usually one to admit it when I'm wrong."

Clint didn't say anything. He knew how this conversation would go; he'd be blamed for the incident, be forced to clean it up, the usual.

Fury's eye flickered towards him, half-expecting a stubborn remark from Clint. "But this is one of those rare times, as it would seem." He stepped away from the screen that blinked down on the conference table. Clint didn't move from where he stood as Fury neared him. "I should've been kinder with her, I know that. If I could change how we approached her... her _case_ , maybe I would. But none of us knew what she was capable of, and I wasn't about the risk the safety of our people-- or that of any civilian."

For a brief second, Clint felt a spark of hope light up inside. If Fury thought what they did was too harsh, then maybe there was a chance--

"But Gale isn't just a risk," Fury said, his words cold and matter-of-fact. "She's a threat."

A heavy, sick feeling fell in Clint's gut. Fury turned back to the large screen and gestured at a muted video that was playing. The silhouette of the Tower stuck against the morning sky like a bruise while people in SHIELD uniforms scurried about like ants, completely focused in their respective tasks. 

"That's a live feed from our team on the ground right now," Fury revealed. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, knuckles a shade paler than the rest of his skin. "No body, no blood, no nothing. It seems Gale has simply... disappeared."

A memory flashed in Clint's mind-- 

_"Just you wait," Gale was laughing. There were little sparks of silver that spun around her knuckles--- it never failed to fascinate Clint, despite how long he'd been around her. "Someday I'll fly away from this place."_

_"Yeah?" Clint snorted. It felt nice to joke around with her-- their former hostility had finally started to fade after the longest two months of Clint's life. "Sure thing, pipsqueak, if you can convince Fury."_

_But Gale just smiled and raised her coffee mug to her lips, her eyes flashing silver over the rim. "Just you wait," she repeated, her tone playfully wicked. "Fury doesn't own the sky... and I can live my whole life up there. Someday, you'll see."_

_Her gaze grew unfocused, and Clint-- not for the first time-- got the feeling that whatever Gale was, "insignificant" was the furthest thing from it._

_"Here one day and elsewhere the next" she said simply. "Someday, I'll just be gone."_

"Are you listening to me, Barton?" 

Fury's irritated voice jerked Clint back to the present. The director had moved back to the table, the silent video still playing in the background. "Sorry, I--" Clint started.

But Fury cut him off abruptly. "Save it. I've got a mission for you. Forget everything else; this is now your top priority."

Clint shifted his weight from side to side, unsure of what to make of the director's statement--- but what he did know was that every second wasted in this room was another second that Gale was in danger... if she wasn't already dead. But Clint couldn't say that to Fury's face, so instead he settled for a polite "Sir?".

Fury's frown deepened-- something Clint didn't think was possible. "You shot her down once, you can do again."

Clint's heart skipped a beat. " _Sir_ \--" he repeated, half-pleading.

"Find her," Fury continued coldly, though nowhere near as cold as Gale could be. "Take care of her. I don't care how long it takes or how much it costs."

"I can't do that," Clint admitted quietly. For some reason he felt ashamed to say those words to the director, after everything he'd done for him. But the still-healing cut in his side stung brightly, and Clint continued on. "Fury, you know she can be turned around--"

" _Really_?" Fury retorted, dripping sarcasm. "Alright, you win, let's talk about what Gale can do. She _can_ kill a person without touching them. She _can_ pull a city block to the ground without breaking a sweat. And she _can_ decide to wreak havoc wherever and whenever she pleases."

"Fury--"

"You work for me, not her," the director reminded him, crossing his arms and glaring down Clint's unspoken reply. "And I'm ordering you to fix this problem."

"It doesn't have to come to that--"

" _Now_ , Barton."

"Yes, sir."

**_End of Book_ **

**_... 1_ **


	49. Acknowledgements (because that’s the fanciest way to say HOLY COW I LOVE MY READERS)

First of all, I have to thank a bunch of people for their love and support: my editors, Iann and Eryn Songg; Bukaro for designing Gale's bad-a** armor for the death match; Flamey is a Spartan, Avocado the James Bond, and FaceEverythingAndRise for designing Ray, Sten, and Aeron respectively; miss lucy for designing the newer cover image; and Fandoms All Weeks Folks for creating the movie trailer. Those are just the folks I can mention by name, but there's so many more of you-- you've sent me fan art, you entered your own characters in for Gale's old team, you commented and favorited, you asked me for writing advice, you asked me to read over your stories, you even simply told me that you loved my story and all of you-- _all of you_ \-- made me love writing even more than I thought was possible.

Okay, the acknowledgments are done, time for the feels part.

I started this story on May 27, 2016. It was the tail-end of my eighth grade year, and I was getting ready to move on to high school. The year before, I'd met my best friend, Iann-- yes, she _is_ one of my editors-- and she introduced me to the amazing world of fan fiction (so if there's anyone to thank, it's her). 

Before I started publishing on Quotev, I wrote everything down in notebooks. And believe me-- it _sucked._ You may be saying, "No, Véra _,_ that isn't true! No story is truly terrible!" To which I'd reply, "First of all: Fifty Shades of Grey. Second of all: _I didn't even use paragraph breaks when I started_." But by writing dozens of not-even-half-finished stories, I discovered that I actually really liked writing. It was fun for me-- I'd scribble something down in one of my notebooks and trade it with my friend the next day, so we'd read each other's stuff and point out all of the good things about them.

And then I found Quotev (admittedly, through a personality test to see "how old my soul was" because _that's_ the kind of fourteen year-old I was). I made an account, and started typing. 

Confession time: I never intended to write more than three chapters into Gale's story.

_*Collective gasp of horror*_

Yes, yes, I know. But it's true; I fully intended to let Gale and her world fall into oblivion after the first month. I hadn't created the cast and the wheelchair yet, and I hadn't envisioned Gale in an alley, hissing when someone called her _volatile._ I didn't know that Gale's parents were dead or that she had an uncle, and I didn't know about the time Gale fell into a lake until she dreamed about it. There were no potatoes to hate, no Quinjet to be stuck on, no movie nights or nightmares. I didn't know Gale's powers were Asgardian until Thor arrived, I didn't know the Teneo even _existed_ until Gale was actually in Asgard--- you know what, I didn't even dream up Ullr and the whole death match until Gale was wandering through the halls by herself, just waiting to bump into someone new. Konstantin didn't exist until Gale was thinking about her home, and Ashi started out as a vague doctor-like character who gradually grew into someone I never expected Gale to find.

A lot of you guys commented on pivotal chapters saying "Oh my gosh! I totally see where you foreshadowed that!"

SIKE. I am but a ignorant fool, acting like I planned everything out from the start.

My point is... three chapters in, and I had all of that hanging in the balance. I had that whole world at the tips of my fingers, and I was about to toss it all away. I actually hadn't started Gale's story because I dreamt up a girl with that name who could fly. I started it because I wanted to _practice_ writing-- Gale simply didn't matter to me the same way she does now.

But you guys started reading it. You started commenting, and hitting that heart-shaped button. I never predicted in a million years that I would've passed one thousand readers, much less _fifty thousand_. Like, I can't even put my amazement into words. That's how you know it's bad, my dudes-- I, a writer, cannot put words to this incredible feeling in my chest.

So I kept writing. Gale's story went from a hundred pages to a whopping _seven-hundred and eighty-nine._ I plotted and planned (and not all of it went the way I thought), and now we're at the end of the book.

May 27, 2016 to October 19, 2019.

Three and a half years. 48 chapters, 789 pages, over two hundred thousand words.

"Happy" doesn't give justice to what I'm feeling right now. You guys have followed this story and hung on to every chapter (even the cliffhangers, of which there were _several_ ), and the love and support you've shown me is comparable to anything else I've felt. Part of me can't believe that MTWBAYB (yes, that demon-spawn is the acronym of the title) is over, but that means there's more chapters to write.

So believe me when I say that Book 2 will be coming out soon. Now, "soon" is kinda relative, because those of you that've read "Nightshifter", my other MARVEL fanfic, know that it's been severely neglected. I plan to switch gears and work on developing Ryan's story for a while, but fret not! Gale _will_ return.

That being said, please know that I _wholeheartedly_ welcome feedback. If you've got plot ideas, share 'em! If you've got fan art, post it! If you wanna design the book cover or literally anything, go for it! This story wouldn't exist if y'all hadn't shouted in my face that y'all wanted an update, so seriously-- _go for it_. 

So buckle up, because once Book 2 comes out, there's gonna be _so much plot fluff it's gonna make you cry_. I mean it; Gale deserves some peace and happiness at this point, don't you agree?

With that, I'll end this ramble by saying **_Thank you from the bottom of my heart_** , and know that there's much more to come.

:)


End file.
